


Nesting

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mech Preg, Plug and Play, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Warnings* for MECHPREG. This chapter - acts prior to, and concept discussed. Otherwise, this is fluffy and later chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky). Fic will be about mecpreg, replication, problems in 'pregnancy,' offspring/sparklings and issues in youngling-raising.</p><p>Scrapper 's mind is filled with strange thoughts during the pre-replication 'receptive' time, while Hook struggles to contain his lust.</p><p>Many thanks to femme4jack for beta :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Datapads and papers littered the table in front of the Constructicon leader. Yet, the more Scrapper looked at the plans, the harder it was to grasp the contents.

 _Why_?  Scrapper still could not figure it out. The proposed new base on Delta Pavonus was a perfectly straightforward construction on a geologically uncomplicated planet. So why was he finding it so hard to grasp the overall picture and stages, into which he always dispatched his team with such adept efficiency?

But the loader’s thoughts were jumbled, as though his logic arrays could not form a coherent order. And instead of technicalities, there were other very impractical notions in his processor.

Like – what a _pleasant_ place this planet was. How the climate was nice, and many races lived in apparent harmony. How it was out of the main thoroughfare between here and Junction Seventeen, and well away from Quadrant sixty six, and hadn’t been targeted by the Quintessons.  

And how, even though they were building yet another outpost here for Galvatron, it would be another that was a token, a mere statement of his presence. The Decepticon leader would rarely use or even visit it. How much better if the Constructicons could tailor it to their own needs. Build instead – a _home_ for themselves.

Yesss – Scrapper stared at the plans, not taking them in. A _real_ home; something that wasn’t just transient lodgings in another of Galvatron’s camps. Somewhere they could be safe and _be together_ and build things; why, they could take up trumpet playing again, and Scrapper could fill the place with memorabilia and other fond Constructicon type stuff. They could all be – a _family._

A _Constructinest._ Why had he never thought of this before?

Scrapper’s spark pained. A tear made its way down his cheek, one landing on the datapads in front of him. Oh no – now this was ridiculous! What if Bonecrusher came charging in here suddenly and saw him all _like this?_ Worse, what if some _other_ Decepticon turned up and saw it? The Constructicons would be a laughing stock; he, Scrapper, undoubtedly demoted.

And what did they want, _anyway_ , with a permanent base? Weren’t they enjoying the traveling life, coupled with the esteem from being - to a certain extent - _the ones who got Galvatron where he was?_

Scrapper straightened in the chair, sniffing and brushing the fluid away.  Firmly, he shut off his optical conduit reservoirs. This was simply absurd!

But all that did was make Scrapper’s spark ache unbearably; and even though the Constructicon leader made a supreme effort to examine the plans afresh, to thoroughly absorb their contents, he still could not stop the longing for comfortable, homely things from invading his processor.

There was no escape. He would have to talk to Hook about this.

………….

Hook sighed. So engrossed was Scrapper in wrestling with the unfamiliar emotions that he had not even noticed his team mate appear in the doorway behind him.

But Hook had been here for a while, grappling with sensations of his own as he watched his team-mate’s helpless display of sentimentality. Hook knew exactly what was wrong with Scrapper - even if Scrapper had no idea himself.

When it came to pre-replication 'states' Hook was, after all, still something of an expert. Even if that was in the somewhat distant past now, and even if he had never hung around after the actual sequence and resulting creations, and had no idea who or where they were.

Scrapper shifted. Hook took in the view from this angle, the chunky grey thigh; the aft with the purple pelvic armour, the backstruts and the shovel with the sensitive hinges and hydraulics. The outline of Scrapper’s face was just visible, maskless for once; the strong chin and smooth facemetal. The crane wondered if their creation would look like Scrapper – would have the same even features and large optics. Or would it have Hook’s own more aquiline profile and deepset, fiery orbs?

 _Their creation_. Desire surged from Hook’s core, radiating outwards, blazing a hot, tingling path through his circuits, radiating to his extremities. His spike pressurized, hard, as all his interface systems clicked into _combined_ _replication_ / _protoform initiation standby_ mode. The pressure rose sharply in his conduits, as his procreative chambers filled with fluid.

Hook allowed the sensation to wash through him, almost whimpering with the need to fully commence the sequence. But in practiced form, he vented several times, managing to keep the noise to a minimum as he injected much needed coolant into his systems and forcibly calm the urges.  

Primus, this sequence was hard to contain! Hook didn’t know that he could do that for very much longer.

But he would have to choose the right time. Replication was a delicate process. If Hook did not get the approach right - if Scrapper was improperly prepared or alarmed when the sequence initiated - then the interface could mismatch. And whilst that wouldn’t detract from what was going to be seriously awesome sex - Hook fought back another swathe of desire -  it wouldn’t result in a protoform implant.

Scrapper put down the datapad he’d been studying, and picked up another. His shoulders hunched, tense, in the effort of concentration and he brushed again at his optics. A wave of fondness went through Hook, desire dissolving to an ache in the crane’s spark. Once Scrapper understood - Hook suspected - an aborted sequence could only result in one sparkbroken loader.

On the other hand, Hook would have to do something soon. The others had not picked up on Scrapper’s receptive state as yet, but they would; and the thought of a hatchling joining them in a vorn or so that was _not_ a combination of him and Scrapper was not appealing.

In fact, it was anything but. Quite apart from the fierce, competitive possessiveness which threatened to engulf Hook at the mere notion, he imagined the thoroughly unpleasant results; the whining offspring of Long Haul, or Scavenger’s inevitably delinquent spawn. How hard to live with would be Bonecrusher’s angry and difficult creation? And as for a Mixmaster mix – that didn’t even bear thinking about.

Besides, Hook thought smugly, his own programming was immensely superior. Articulate, vocational, and tinged with Alpha caste specifications. The combination of it and Scrapper's would make for a very fine specimen indeed. It was maybe touching to think of giving Scrapper, a ‘choice.’ But really, there wasn’t one.

Scrapper was in tears again, fluid dripping on to the datapad he now clutched. Hook tutted – but could not help but feel uncharacteristically sentimental again. This was, of course, not untypical for the potential co-replicator either.  They would just both have to accept that it was part of the process, and not get over anxious about keeping up the ‘tough Decepticon act’ for now.

So long as nobody saw them outside the team, it would be all right …

Hook cleared his throat, and Scrapper looked around. His tear-filled optics followed Hook with a mixture of relief and confusion as he walked across. Hook gently removed the pad from Scrapper’s hand. He put it down. Then he curled his own hand around Scrapper’s, a pang ripping through his spark when Scrapper hung on to the hand as he sat down.

“What’s wrong with me?” Scrapper whimpered. “There must be some medical reason for this? Surely you ought to be able to figure it out, Hook?”

“I have,” Hook said, in a voice filled with the overwhelming and extraordinary affection he felt. Looking into Scrapper’s optics, he ran a finger down the smooth, moist cheek.

“Have you ever thought about ...” he paused, "there being more than one of you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions flare when Hook breaks the news to Scrapper and they discuss the future.
> 
> Same warnings for talk of MECHPREG, FLUFF, angst and drama.

There was a brief interlude where Scrapper’s optics filled with wonder.

“W-what ...? You mean - a little one?”  His face lit up, simple happiness blending with incredulity. “A little Constructicon, all of our own? For us to make a home for and bring up?”

“Yes,” Hook smiled, glowing inside. Warm feelings and desires simmered deeply. Scrapper had never looked so beautiful.

But then, things changed. Like a patient who’d believed his life saved being told that his days were now numbered, the joyous look was replaced by one of despair, then near panic.

“But Hook, how can I?” Scrapper cried. “How could I possibly, in my wildest dreams? I mean - what about my responsibilities? And how would I _ever_ find the time to look after it?”

Hook placed a hand on his arm “Scrapper ...” he began. But the look Scrapper gave him was resolute – if tortured. “No, Hook! I’m a leader,” he said firmly, breaking away. “The Constructicons would never cope without me.”

A wretched look came about him. Hook’s spark ached at the obvious internal war between Scrapper’s ever present concern for his team and the tragedy of a newly fledged dream that had been swept away before it could begin.

“No, no, no, it just wouldn’t work.” Scrapper’s voice was almost a wail. “I couldn’t _possibly!”_

...............

Hook had managed to get Scrapper sitting down again. Tears streaked the leader’s face, and he still looked most unhappy. But at least he was now receptive about creation again.

And hopefully in the way Hook wanted; for the ache in the crane’s spark – not to mention his interface relays – had never been so intense.

“I don’t know.” Scrapper was saying. He ran a hand over his helm. “I just don’t know…”

“Its OK …” Hook put an arm around the green shoulders. Scrapper throbbed under it, warm and spark breakingly vulnerable. Hook pulled him close, and Scrapper leaned into the green and purple chassis, where he rested his head, blinking out tears that ran down the smooth metal and into Hook’s transformation seams.

Hook put both arms around Scrapper and pulled him close, filled again with tender, almost painful affection. Often, the crane had paused to wonder what might happen if one of them became replication-receptive, had fantasized about being a co-creator again. Never had he thought it would be Scrapper- or realized that he would want to be the leader’s choice so much.

But Hook did; and not just for the rush when the all consuming urges rendered the sequence so hard to resist. His spark flared as he rested his cheek on the top of Scrapper’s helm and gently caressed the struts of his loader. Incredible though it still seemed, he genuinely ached to _be_ with Scrapper; for them to be - parents.

Scrapper still trembled. His fingers plucked at Hook’s chest. “I just don’t know what to do!” he whispered.

Other thoughts were running through Hook’s processor. Like the need for a proper _Constructicon_ upbringing – with Decepticon ideals of course. The pride there would be when _their creation_ became a construction mech, or an architectural engineer like Scrapper. Maybe it would even be a medic like himself....

Another painful surge in Hook’s chest. This had to work out.

Scrapper trembled in his arms. “It’ll all right,” Hook said, pleased with the note of ‘responsibility’ in his own voice. “Everything will be fine, Scrapper.”

This time, Scrapper said nothing. He melted into Hook, and Hook mouthed at his helm and stroked him, liking this a great deal. “You’re part of a team, “he murmured. “We’ll all share the burden. Our creation will grow to be a product of all our efforts.”

And this was so. Even if the rest would need some firm instruction in forthcoming times about inappropriate behaviour and the dangers of negative influences.

“Mmnnn …” for a moment, Scrapper seemed to agree. But then, he pushed Hook back, looking at him with optics widened, as though struck with an epiphany. _Oh no,_ Hook  thought. _Now what?_

Scrapper pulled away. “Indeed, the others, Hook!” he cried. “What about them? Should they not be given the choice of co-creatorhood? And ...” he turned away, and Hook could feel a flurry of thoughts - most unwelcome thoughts, he suspected with a sinking spark - whirring through Scrapper’s processor.

“What about mechs _outside_ the gestalt?”

Scrapper turned back, his optics sparkling a bright crimson. “Would that not lead to an optimum program mix, to ultimately a more balanced robot?” he said excitedly.

......

Hook could not even look at Scrapper. Arms folded, he glared at the floor. His hands clenched tightly as Scrapper continued his deliberations, apparently completely unaware of the catastrophic effect of what had just been suggested.

Hook still could hardly believe it, did not _want_ to believe it. The other Constructicons, he had expected proposals about, been ready to mount an argument against their ‘suitabilities.’ But these _other_ ‘prospects?’ They had taken him horribly by surprise.

Like acid on an open wound, the names seared into Hook’s spark.

The Autobot _Grapple_ had been the first name to issue forth. That had been hardly unexpected; and, Hook supposed, not entirely preposterous. At least the mech was another crane and had some intelligence and finesse.

But Hook had not done more than grunt acknowledgement; and that mainly to hide the devastation - and now humiliation- that burned bitterly inside him.

It had gotten worse. Hot Spot’s name had come next. Hook had looked at Scrapper incredulously. “You can’t be serious!” he’d said. “Him? He’s so straight, and Autobot, and full of unwavering loyalty to that idiot Rodimus that its painful! And the same goes for Grapple if you think about it.”

“Yes, but maybe another gestalt leader would be a good idea,” Scrapper had said, fussing up and down now as he voiced his thoughts. "A 'bot might be a good counterbalance, Hook.  With Galvatron the way he is, I can see a time when Autobots and Decepticons …”

“Oh rubbish!” Hook had snapped. “Just because this is a life changing event and Galvatron’s a lunatic it doesn’t mean you forget what we stand for, Scrapper!”

“All right – well what about a Decepticon gestalt leader then?” And then he’d said it: _Motormaster._

Hook had reeled inside and fought a sudden urge to purge, violently as rage swept through him. _How_ _could_ _Scrapper even_ _think_ _that_ _?_

“You’re’ right ….” The non-comprehendible sounds Hook had made must have made his feelings obvious. “That’s probably not a very good choice.”

“Oh hallelujah; and thank Primus for sensibility!” Hook had snapped.

Now, Scrapper had stopped pacing. He was looking at Hook, his hands on his hips. He seemed to glow, to have suddenly embraced, after all, this situation of procreating himself. “Well what about Onslaught?” he said. “He’s OK, you know. We’ve always gotten on well and he’s here on Delta Pavonus…”

 _Onslaught!_ Hook felt his own hand metal crush as his fists tightened and unprocessed energon sloshed sickeningly in his chamber. Yes – the Combaticon leader had always had a soft spot for Scrapper, had frequently given him _the optic._ They sometimes had _little chats_ and outings. And Scrapper _knew_ what Hook thought about that.

Hook turned away, beyond furious. The next time that brutish creation needed a service, Hook would see to it that by the time he’d finished, Onslaught wasn’t even _capable_ of co-creation.

Then his spark burned afresh and tears pricked his optics. One thing was crystal clear: Scrapper wanted a _leader_ to take advantage of his new found ability to replicate. Clearly, a lowly member of his own team was not sufficient. And neither was he, Hook.

The pain in Hook’s spark sharpened unbearably. Even he, the one without whom Devastator would not have been possible, was not in the running.

Scrapper was still talking, but Hook had not even heard the last dozen or so sentences. Whatever they were about - Onslaught or some other hurtful, outlandish suggestion - Hook didn’t want to hear it.

“We should summon the others,” Hook heard now as he ‘tuned’ back in, struggling to cope. After all these eons he had found something he really wanted – only to have it dashed and shattered, trodden into the ground like something worthless.

“We must ask their opinions,” Scrapper went on. “As you have been saying, Hook, this is a group effort. We must ask them who they think would be most ...”

“Oh I don’t know, why BOTHER? Since you seem to have it all _worked out!”_ Hook spat the words out, unable to contain himself, the bitterness in his voice cutting the air like a scythe.

Scrapper paused in mid-sentence. He gaped at Hook, his expression one of genuine surprise. But Hook wasn’t hanging around to hear any more. Scrapper had said all he’d needed to say.

“I’ll leave you to it!” Hook snapped. Brushing away the tears, doing his best to stifle the emotions which threatened to swallow him, the crane strode for the door.

................

“Hook, wait!”

A stricken note was clear, the hand that caught at Hook’s arm was clutching and desperate. Hook tried to shake it off, to charge out and away into the Delta Pavonian night without so much as a backward glance. To tell the others he was leaving – immediately. Clearly, he had no place among the Constructicons.

But he did look back – he could not help it. And there were Scrapper’s fear filled optics as he stared in horrified non comprehension.

“Hook, don’t go. Please – I need you. But I must make the best choice for the Constructicons’ future. What's wrong with that?”

And he genuinely could _not_ see, Hook realized. And he was being his _leaderly_ self. But Hook’s spark still burned, hurt and destroyed. It changed nothing. Scrapper wanted – somebody else.

And Scrapper _should_  see. Was he not, apart from anything else, Hook’s leader? Should he not be sensitive to all the needs of all his team? He had lacked that. He intended making another berth. He could lie in it.

“If you can’t see what you’re doing, then too bad, I don’t have time to enlighten you!” Hook snarled. Yet he lingered in the doorway, unable to leave those sad and bewildered optics. They stared into his, wanting him to be there, to be supportive in this time of need.

Hooks chest tightened, and without even thinking he offlined his optics, opening the gestalt bond wide and let his seething emotions flow into it, a swirling sea of the hurt and disappointment he felt. He was conscious of time  passing, only the sighing of their intakes punctuating the tense silence as realization dawned in Scrapper. 

“Hook!” Scrapper gasped. “That was crazy of me. I just didn’t think ....I didn’t know ….” Hook onlined his optics to see Scrapper's  face looking wretched. “ _How was I to tell if you were for real!"_

That was a little different from what Hook expected. “What do you mean?”

“Of course I wanted it to be you, Hook. But I know you've never felt about me how I do about you. I was ..."

Scrapper swallowed, "I thought you might just be suggesting yourself out of duty. When you said that about all of us, I thought I should have a wider perspective. I think. I’m so confused, Hook …"

Hook certainly believed that. He softened a little. But he was still angry. This latest was just – ridiculous. How could Scrapper be so _dense?_

Scrapper was looking at him pleadingly; Hook had a momentary urge to take him in his arms again, but the names of _those others_ still burned and he resisted. He did, however, come properly back into the room. The door clicked behind him. “Didn’t you listen to anything I said?” He could not help snapping.

Scrapper opened his mouth to reply. Then, he changed. An indignant look came over him; the sort of look that he got when standing up for Constructicon rights; that had done as much to guarantee his place as their leader as his skills in the trade. A look that Hook – his resistance ebbing pathetically – had always liked. A lot.

“I was looking after all of our interests!” Scrapper’s chin jutted out.

Hook felt his circuits melt. He _was_ beautiful. But no – it didn’t make things any better. Hook wanted to grab him and shake him. “So this _isn’t_ about some notion that I don’t care!” he snarled. “Its about you finding other mechanisms superior. Well I tell you this, Scrapper – if you think that way then so be it. But _don’t_ insult me by expecting me to find one of _them_ 'in our interests' as you insist on putting it."

But Scrapper stood his ground, his expression resolute. “I’ve a right to think outside the square, Hook! You can’t deny that you’ve never committed – certainly not to me, at times not even really to this outfit. Obviously, from the little you’ve told me, this is a passionate exercise. When all that’s done and I’m carrying and reality has set in, how do I know you’ll stick around?”

Feelings still swirled through the bond; And Hook could see, now _._ It wasn’t untrue. He found himself thinking again of his previous ‘creation experiences,’ of how he had not the slightest notion of where one of them was, of whether the implants had even actually succeeded.

And Scrapper? Of course he would be afraid of that. Had he not always worshipped the ground Hook walked on; had given up another life for him, had stuck by him through thick and thin?

Yes - he would always have done anything for Hook. But he would also have done anything for the team; was pragmatic and leader enough always to ensure in any opportunity that the Constructicons came off best. Including in this instance – if there were the slightest doubt about his co-creator.

 _I’ve pushed him away._ Hook thought. _I’ve gone and ruined this. Now that I want it._

But Scrapper had changed again. He looked into Hook’s optics, his own a crimson reflection of the emotions in both their sparks.

“Hook ...?” Scrapper’s voice was little more than a whisper.

Trembling, Hook struggled to contain himself. “You’re special, Scrapper,” he mumbled. “I might not always have shown that, but I’ve always thought it. I’m not very good when it comes to feelings. Its just that now....”

And then he could not help himself, he caught Scrapper’s hands and pulled him to him. “Mine,” he whispered. “I want this creation to be mine, I want _you_ to be mine. And that's how it is.”

“Hook…” Scrapper opened his mouth to speak. But instead, simply melted.

And then he was in Hook’s arms, his chest throbbing warmly against Hook’s. He buried his face in Hook’s neck, his vents heating the cords. “I believe you,” he said. “I never thought in my wildest dreams that I’d be a creator, but if that ever happened....” his embrace tightened, “I _never_ would have wanted anyone else. I think I just needed to hear you say that. I’m sorry....”

The fierce longing Hook had been fighting ever since this whole thing began surged violently; and then he was kissing Scrapper passionately, and Scrapper was kissing him back; hands swept possessively over each others’ frames. Sparks crackled, heat searing Hook’s core as the pre-replication sequence initiated, this time with urgent compulsion.

And Scrapper was right there with him. “I don’t think we should wait,” he was squirming against Hook, his hands clutching metal. “I don’t think I can.”

“Scrapper ….” Hook vented deeply as he kissed the loader, _his_ loader. He felt the universe crumble as he was hauled towards a precipice, one from which he had no choice but to go over, and now had not the slightest inclination to resist.

“Lets’ not then,” he whispered.

And there was more to the urgency than passion, for a return to Scrapper’s previous thinking could not be risked. Hook supposed, as he spared the matter one more brief thought, that fleeting fantasies about possible co-creators in newly activated replicators were not a rare occurrence.  It was all part of the process.

Onslaught wouldn’t be interested, of course - he knew that logically too. And there was no way his creation would be as good as Hook’s. And Scrapper had seen the truth of that, and Hook's feelings, now. But it was as well they got on with this. Before Scrapper ever had the chance to think of Onslaught - or anyone else - again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same *content warnings* apply. This fic contains mechsex, of sticky, plug & play and spark varieties. It contains mechpreg, and is all about replication among Transformers, sparklings, parenthood and the trials and tribulations of youngling-rearing. Please don't read if you have an aversion to any of these things.
> 
> As for this chapter: Hook and Scrapper's lust takes a hold - but it might not be all plain sailing.
> 
> Thanks to all those reading and encouraging this so far :-)

Never had Scrapper wanted anything so much.

Every component in his frame and circuitry strained as he backed towards the desk, dragging Hook with him. His connector popped out, sparking against his hip as his valve cover slid open, fluid dribbling down the inside of his thigh. He felt his chest plates loosen, a dull ache throbbing in his spark.

Hook let himself be pulled, pausing and pushing Scrapper to one side only to sweep an arm across the desk. Datapads, tools and architectural instruments clattered to the floor.

Somewhere, a tiny flash of concern flitted through Scrapper’s processor for his precious tools of trade. But need straight away overrode it.  Scrapper made no attempt to stop the little whimpering noises that were issuing from his vocaliser – or his obvious desperation as he tugged Hook on top of him. He wrapped his legs around Hook’s waist, arching up against him.

Hook paused. He touched Scrapper’s face, his optics burning with desire so strong (so long wanted) that Scrapper lunged at him hungrily, pulling him into a kiss. Hook obliged, kissing him urgently, his mouth hot and hungry.  One hand clutched the side of Scrapper’s helm as the other slid down Scrapper’s side and along his groin seam, then to massage his thigh.

Scrapper squirmed into the touch. Every part of Hook felt magnificent. His spike was out, a throbbing ridge against Scrapper's middle. Hook’s connector was out too; both their cables snaked between them. Scrapper’s port sparked, his valve slicking with lubricant. He clamped his legs around Hook and sunk his fingers in, bucking his hips so components rubbed his port and the base of Hook’s spike stimulated the cluster of nodes above his valve.

Hook became more passionate. He scrambled to get his knees on the desk and Scrapper loosened his legs, wriggling back to accommodate him whilst his hand found Hook’s spike, rigid and hot and throbbing. He grasped it and Hook moaned, tilting his head back, rocking so that the spike went up and down in Scrapper’s hand, sparking against his fingers. Scrapper moaned and grabbed at Hook’s aft, his valve aching.

Scrapper _had_ to have that spike in him. He needed the connectors in, pumping energy and data.  His chest was suddenly on fire, the plating too tight;  e _verything_ burned and ached. Scrapper cried out as hitherto unknown components slid  and realigned inside him.  Data streamed into new fashioned files as standby upload instructions clicked and whirred. More lubricant oozed from various seams.

“Please Hook,” he wailed, reaching for him, his voice heavy with emotion and static. “I want this now. I want _you.”_

………..

He did, too. Their interfacing had always been 'pleasant' enough, but Hook could never have imagined that Scrapper could be so – unrestrained. Well – he could, given that this was how receptors tended to be in this ‘condition.’ But even so Scrapper’s unbridled lust, augmented by the gestalt connections, was an unexpected delight.

On his hands and knees above Scrapper, Hook moved his hips, pleasure rippling through his sensors as his spike moved up and down in Scrapper’s hand. He dropped to his elbows and kissed Scrapper again, cupping the beautiful, unmasked face with both hands, twining his glossa around Scrapper’s feverishly probing one. Metal squealed deliciously, their chests sliding hot together.

The wanting on every level was glorious. Scrapper’s other hand wandered feverishly, finding Hook’s connector, his fingers balling it into his fist.  Hook’s intakes hitched, his databanks swelling with urgent information as energy engorged his circuits. It gathered, tightening his chest as his spark flared like a supernova, ready to merge with Scrapper’s.

Hook broke from the kiss and looked into Scrapper’s face again, wanting - needing - to see again the beauty, the urgent desire. Scrapper’s optics were liquid crimson, filled with the lust and love he felt. “Want you….want you every way, Hook ….”

The emotion! It engulfed Hook like a wave, searing into his depths. He gasped, groping down, his hand finding Scrapper’s connector as he whimpered himself, unable to contain his own energy field any longer. Sparks crackled as he released over his lover.

Even though not a full overload, Scrapper stiffened with the force of it, his optics going dim. Then his field flared back, uncontrolled. His fingers tightened instinctively on the spike and connector. “Oh Primus …” Hook moaned as more crackles erupted loudly and fluid spurted hard from his spike.

Scrapper shuddered beneath him as both of their residual charges shot back up, rising to a peak;  more datafiles clicked into readiness; and now the replication program was poised, ripe, ready for initiation.

Hook ran Scrapper’s connector over his own port, shivering at the intensity as he raised his hips, manoeuvring to get his spike into position.  The surge that went through him was conquering, all possessive. “Oh Scrapper … “ he whispered, hardly able to believe his own seething feelings.

Scrapper whimpered, moving wildly. His heels scritched at Hook’s craneshaft as the spike grazed the entrance to his valve. Letting go of the spike, he grabbed Hook at the side of the helm, his optics glowing and desperate as with the other hand he fumbled with Hook’s connector, trying to get it in his own port. Their chests flared hot and Scrapper cried out, arching his back. Chest plating grated and sparked, the sparksurge momentarily eclipsing the other needs as the connectors fell from their hands.

The universe went hazy. Static buzzed in Hook's audials. It subsided, and magnetic forces activated, drawing the connectors to the ports as lubricant gushed on to Hook’s spike, which stiffened beyond bearable levels. A shudder went through them both. Hook’s spark simmered; and all was ready, the charge gathering as the program hovered at the brink of ‘execute'....

Except (and Hook could hardly believe it, but damn it he had to) warnings were flashing in Hook’s emergency array – and he could not ignore them.

 _Initiation sequence faulty._ _Likelihood of implant – 28%. Likelihood of successful program merge – 13%._ _Chance of aborted replication – 83%._

 _Advice: **abort now.** Advice – **critical.**_   _Initiation protocols require **urgent** refreshment .…_

Despite the force of the urges, Hook paused and drew back, a stifled cry of both frustration and anguish issuing from his vocalizer. For should he not have well known this would happen? He, Hook, expert as he was in both the medical and pleasurable aspects of the replication process?  

A prototype implant could just as easily misfire through a recipient being over eager as being afraid and ill prepared.

Scrapper was desperate beneath him; steam rose as he fought to get spike, ports, sparks, _everything_ aligned. He was so beautiful like that, and Hook so much wanted him that he nearly succumbed.  But wisdom overruled desire.  Grunting with the effort, Hook threw a heavy block into place, effectively overriding his own sequencing.

“No!” Scrapper screamed, trying to shove in the connection - somewhere, _anywhere_ \- and at the same time pushing his valve up, trying to get Hook’s retracting spike to go in. His other hand plucked at Hook’s chest plates, pulling the edges of the hot metal. When Hook - wincing with effort - pulled away, Scrapper let go of the connector and flung his arms around Hook, pulling their chests together, squashing components between them in a last frantic attempt.

But now, the override sequence was well and truly in place, and Hook managed to wrest free. He sat up on his knees and straddled Scrapper, panting heavily. “Hush Scrapper,” he rasped, clutching Scrapper’s hand and with the other, stroking the distraught face. “Patience. This will happen. There just needs to be – a little wait.”

“I can’t wait,” Scrapper wailed as tears began to leak out of his optics and run down his face. Hook could hardly bear it. “Hush, hush, hush …” he murmured,  his voice wavery as he kissed Scrapper’s hand and tried to stroke him soothingly. Scrapper whimpered and writhed beneath him, a picture of unrequited lust - and love.

“Scrapper …” Hook couldn’t keep out the half sob as another massive sparksurge engulfed him. He took deep intakes and offlined his optics, forcing his protesting systems into a painful stasis. As he wrestled with his uncomfortably high charge and almost uncontainable emotion, he downloaded the facts – because somehow he had to reassure himself that what he was doing was right.

 _Lesson … subject … replication … initiation sequence ….._ It was quite straightforward, really. SLOW foreplay was essential, during which time:

_\- the valve aperture widens adequately, ready to open and allow entry of transfluid, thus creating the correct chemical environment within the carrying chamber;_

_\- the ‘whole of mechanism’ data programs in each participant prepare for maximum information upload and mergence;_

_\- the sparks reach a state of rhythmic pulse generation and at this point, connection is viable;_

_\- when penetration occurs, the sparks will energy fragment, synchronising with the data-merge process described above to simultaneously bring about physical protoform implant and life force creation …._

The words were dry and text bookish. Yet Hook whimpered tears as his feelings overcame him. _The process of life creation_ – and it would be theirs! He collapsed on to Scrapper. “We have to get it right, we have to …” he gasped into Scrapper’s neck, half sobbing. He squeezed Scrapper’s hand tightly as he recalled the final stages of the instruction modem:

_Should the entire process be correctly conducted, this will be a pleasurable and joyous event – as opposed to an exercise swathed in disappointment through failure to initiate matters in the correct manner._

“What’s wrong, _what’s wrong?”_ Scrapper was frantic, trying to push Hook up. Hook raised himself to look at Scrapper’s stricken face, and the crane’s spark melted again. An almost unbearable desire swept through him, to have Scrapper just to comfort him, to feel him. But even that was too risky.   “Scrapper,” he whispered, stroking his face again, “we have to wait.”

Scrapper stilled. His frame trembled. “Don’t you want me after all? Is this not going to happen?”

“It _is_ going to happen ….” Hook couldn’t help it; he kissed Scrapper again, deeply, trying to let all that he felt somehow flow from the depths of his spark through his lips.

But that set the loader off once more. Scrapper kissed him back fiercely, and started to buck against him. His fingers scratched against Hook’s chest panels, then went around Hook’s neck, clutching the back of his helm. The force with which he wanted Hook caused the crane’s charge to peak sharply again and his systems to fire up with renewed potency. _I have to do something,_ he thought.   _I can’t leave Scrapper (or either of us) like this._

“Lay back …” Hook managed to inject a note of command as he pulled free, pushing Scrapper down and moving quickly to lie on his side, leaning on one elbow. His intakes sounded heavily as his hand glided across Scrapper’s chest,  then slid down his body, finding the node cluster above the open valve. Scrapper stiffened, whimpering.  “Open your legs,” Hook croaked.

Scrapper wriggled, crimson optics staring with anguish and need – but he did as told. He clutched Hook’s arm – but did not try and pull him down again. His connector sparked, and Hook eyed it, resisting the urge to grab it and plug it in. “Divert all your energy to your valve,” he said. “Relax and think of me in you, think of releasing through it …”

Scrapper moaned, opening his legs wider. Hook fingered around the rim of the valve, offlining his optics as his spike emerged, stiffening with renewed force. He eased his fingers in, feeling the well lubricated and primed inner nodes, imagining it was his spike plunging deep into the silky metal passage.

Scrapper tensed, arching up against the fingers, panting; his hand grasped Hook’s wrist. This would not take much. And then (thank Primus in the firmament) Hook would come himself - explosively - in about two astroseconds flat ….

Hook reached the innermost levels of the valve vault. Charge surged through him, every synapse straining again to pull his fingers out and just _fuck_ Scrapper, a prelude to the whole glorious sequence. His connector fell on his thigh, sparking, and his spark ached as his spike throbbed hard. He felt Scrapper’s valve clench around his fingers as Scrapper moaned and arched further, uttering little strangled sounds of need.

“All right just let – yourself- go …” Hook murmured, barely able to articulate the words. He could not bear to online his optics, was too afraid that - warnings or no warnings - he would not be able to resist. He pushed his fingers in as far as they would go, feeling the aperture, relief rushing through him as he realized it was fractionally open and arresting desire – just a little. Even just spiking Scrapper would have really bungled everything.

Hook widened the gap between his fingers, feeling the metal stretch, willingly. Then he thrust hard around the aperture once, twice ….

Scrapper cried out, going rigid. He swept over the edge, rapidly, violently, his body erupting in a series of jerks as his valve clenched, lubricant washing around them. Powerful spasms sucked Hook's fingers inward. Metal squealed as the crane's arm buckled under Scrapper’s grip.

Hook left his fingers in the valve, panting hard, the sucking sensation making him want to come so badly he nearly did – without any further stimulation. Scrapper’s valve clenched again and again. He made noises with each contraction, his hands still clutching at Hook. Lust gave way to emotion, and Hook was moved again almost to tears at the vulnerability, the need for himself inherent in the desperate movements.

“Scrapper,” he gasped, dipping his head to kiss the Constructicon leader’s helm. “You’re lovely.” It was the only thing that came to mind as his lover's spasms went on and on and on....

"Hook ...?"

Hook onlined his optics to see Scrapper staring at him as though in wonderment. His valve still undulated around Hook’s fingers. “That was – amazing,” Scrapper whispered.

Despite the passion of just now, he sounded _almost_ like his usual self – only uncharacteristically happy. In fact, he radiated a joyful bliss, his optics sparkling with new found wonder in the universe. Hook could only nod, offlining his optics.

The physical need that rose up like a fury in Hook again must have been obvious, however. “Don’t you need to unload?” Scrapper whispered.

“Yeah …” Hook muttered. “You could say that was something of an understatement.”

Removing his fingers, straddled Scrapper again, but this time up on his knees. His unsatisfied and engorged spike stuck out like a construction pole. He propped himself on Scrapper’s hip. Then he took Scrapper’s hand and fastened it around the spikeshaft, closing his own over it as he began to move it up and down in slow strokes.

 _Oh that was bliss …_ Hook whimpered as he did as he’d told Scrapper to do, diverting all his energy into his spike, into the joy of a purely loin-based sexual release. He stole a glance at Scrapper, noting with satisfaction that the loader’s optics were wide, apparently transfixed by his appendage - as though it were an object of worship.

Then Hook offlined his optics and thrust violently in time with the hand movements, needing this beyond all measure, surrendering completely.

It took no time at all. A few sparks erupted violently as Hook came rapidly to the peak. His intakes hitched and his systems seized momentarily, as he savoured the ecstasy of the brink; then he threw his head back and exhaled hard, crying out as release came - gloriously - and fluid cascaded over Scrapper, spurt after spurt, wave after wave of blessed relief.

…………………

Scrapper could hardly believe the amount of fluid covering his chest plates. They sizzled as steam and mechly aromas rose into the air. “I don’t remember you ever coming as hard as that,” he gasped – though he couldn’t recall Hook ever getting him to that state either. _Primus - how will it be when we actually go all the way …._

That thought sent the loader’s circuits tingling. But logic had taken over again, and Scrapper knew for certain that Hook had stopped for a reason, and not because of the silly conviction Scrapper had had at the height of it all, that Hook didn’t want him after all. He determined not to think like that – if possible – and to find out as much as he could about the technical aspects of this process.

Hook was sprawled beside him on his back on the desk, still venting heavily. His spike was still out, though it had fallen against his pelvic plating. “That was just a start,” he gasped. “Just a sample of how intense this is going to get, Scrapper – in every way. I think we should talk before we go further …”

“Which doesn’t mean I don’t want you …” leaning up quickly, he managed a crooked smile. “Just that I should have explained it all better. And taking care with the preliminaries – I think I can take us both to heights we haven’t been before. And make a protoform - that's the object, of course.”

Scrapper found himself filled with desire again. But it was choked with emotion by the ‘p’ word. How confusing and contrary this replication programming was.

“Hook …” he reached for the crane and Hook lay down with his head on Scrapper’s shoulder. “It can sometimes take a few connections to get the implant actually,” Hook said, stroking at Scrapper’s chest plates. “But provided the sequence is right each time it all should be amazing – and successful.”

Scrapper stroked his helm, overcome as much by the fact that Hook had never lain with him like this before (as he so often had wanted) as by everything else. “I want to get this right,” he whispered.

And he could have stayed like that forever, warm and comfortable, whilst Hook began to tell him about the program, the bodily sensations and functions, the need for careful synchrony. But unfortunately, something else was breaking through. A clamour of voices and emotions – very familiar voices and emotions - hammered against the closed gestalt bond as message after message began to ping in Scrapper’s processor.

Hook paused in his eloquent descriptions. “Oh pit,” he murmured. “Did they have to arrive right now?”

But Scrapper felt suddenly protective. The Constructicons had returned – and he was their leader, after all. And what Hook had said earlier about them all being a part of the upbringing of his sparkling ( _yes, his sparkling – he really was going to have one with Hook_ ) was suddenly firmly in his mind.

He stopped the stroking. “They want to know what we’re up to. We have to tell them, Hook!”

And Hook could hardly disagree. He let out a sigh, his fingers straying over Scrapper’s chest one last time.  Then he sat up. “All right,” he said. “Let’s let them in. But lets get this over with as soon as we possibly can. All right?”

And Scrapper, his interface relays starting to twitch again, was not adverse to this suggestion.

Not at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings* for MECHPREG. This chapter - concept further discussed. Otherwise, this fic is fluffy and other chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky). Fic is about mecpreg, replication, problems in 'pregnancy,' offspring/sparklings and issues in youngling-raising.
> 
> In this chapter: Tempers flare and tension builds when the other Constructicons find out about Scrapper's receptive 'state.'
> 
> And many thanks to Anonfeather for being so helpful with this and for beta-ing.

The sheer anger emanating from the other mechs in the room took Scrapper by surprise. He found himself shrinking back, any confidence in his leadership rapidly diminishing as the raised voices grew louder.

“How could you?” Scavenger was right in front of him. His tail swished angrily, the excavator’s usual cheeriness replaced with undisguised fury. “You know how I feel about you Scrapper!” he yelled. “And I’d just like to know …” he gestured in Hook’s direction. “What makes you think _he’s_ a better co-creator than _me?”  
_

Scrapper couldn’t even think of a reply. His optics darted across to Hook. Right then, he wanted nothing more than to be beside him. But he could not even see Hook past Bonecrusher’s large form, which positively scintillated with fury.

“So you really think you can protect him?” Bonecrusher’s fists were clenched balls of tight metal. “Because that’s what both him and this creation are gonna need …”

“He is such an _aft!”_ Scavenger threw his hands in the air.

“What you gonna do Hook? Hoist out your crane and swing ‘im outta harm’s way…. ”

“Is that what you want?” Scavenger’s hands were on his hips. _"Your creation to be raised by an aft?”_

“Look, Scavenger …” Scrapper began.    


But Scavenger hadn’t finished. “You’ve never listened to me!” he yelled. “You’re not even listening to me now!  Well I’m telling you, Scrapper, no-one’s gonna blame me this time. When this is all over and he’s left you get left high and dry-”

The door opened, and Scrapper’s attention was diverted to the arrival of Mixmaster and Long Haul. Scrapper saw to his horror that the mixer sat down, his head in his hands. The distress in the ordinarily cheerful mech was obvious. “I always w-wanted to be a r-r-replicator,” he kept repeating.

“There, there…can’t choose these things, y’know?” But Long Haul’s obvious efforts at consolation didn’t seem to be working.

Scavenger and Bonecrusher kept yelling loudly their concerns – but Scrapper wasn’t listening to them. Instead, he focused on Mixmaster’s stammering: “I always wanted to r-r-replicate with Hook. What h-h-happened? Its S-s-scrapper’s fault. He did this on p-p-purpose. He’s manipulated his own p-p-programming.”

 _No!_ Scrapper started across the room. “Mix, I didn’t - I wouldn’t even know how …” but a green arm restrained him and pulled him protectively to one side. 

“Don’t buy into it!” Hook hissed. “Let’s get outta here.”

Scrapper nodded. He thought this a good idea – even if his instinct was to go straight to the stricken mixer. But their exit was blocked by Bonecrusher and Scavenger.  

“How about we take this outside, Hook?” Bonecrusher’s knuckles cracked. “I’d like that. Because if we don’t sort this the right way then you don’t have any idea what I’m gonna to do to you ….”

“I hate you Hook,” Scavenger was at his side, his face a livid mask. “I can’t even think of you as a team mate any more …!”

“Get out of my way!” Hook snarled, sounding every bit as threatening. Scrapper found himself hanging on to his hand helplessly - pathetically - his ordinarily confident leadership programming completely overwhelmed. He was unable to muster even the thoughts to deal with this, as Mixmaster’s lamentations became louder.

“See what you done? You ain’t goin’ nowhere …” Bonecrusher’s fist thwacked into the palm of his other hand. He and Scavenger seemed bigger; menacing. More like the Decepticon warriors they’d become and less like the construction mechs they always had been and still were. The treads on their legs rippled aggressively.

“Very well then …” Hook growled and tightened his grip on Scrapper. His body stiffened as it always did when preparing for combat. It wasn’t dissimilar to that; especially from the way Bonecrusher and Scavenger were advancing.

“That’s ENOUGH!”

The authority behind the voice froze everybody. Turning back, Scrapper saw that Long Haul had risen, weapon in hand. Gone was the usually quiet and melancholic dump truck. In his place was the Constructicon coordinator, whose outbursts were rare but not unknown. He had taken this stance before, when Scrapper had been out of action.

And Scrapper was relieved at that moment – oh so relieved – that he had appointed Long Haul in that role; for at such times as this, the green masked form was a force to be reckoned with. So much so that the violence went out of Bonecrusher and Scavenger’s optics and they fell meekly back.

“That’s better …” Long Haul kept the gun trained on Bonecrusher and Scavenger for a few moments. Then he put it away.  “Scrapper?” He jerked his head towards the now vacant seat next to Mixmaster. “Over there …. you need to give each other some tender loving care.” Scrapper stole a glance at Hook, who squeezed his hand and nodded.   

Scrapper let go of the hand and joined the mixer, who regarded him with haunted optics. But Scrapper couldn’t return the look. His optics remained fixed on the others.

“Scavenger! Siddown over there.”

“But…” the excavator protected.

“NOW!” Long Haul glared at him. “We need to clear up a few things around here. Mainly your _place_ in the scheme of things …”

The excavator went to speak again, but Long Haul’s optic ridges furrowed. Scavenger gave up. He sat.

Long Haul turned to Bonecrusher and Hook. “And as for _you_ two....”

Bonecrusher’s anger flared again. “We can settle it on our own” He snarled, taking a step towards Hook. The crane’s fists clenched - but he found Long Haul between himself and Bonecrusher. 

 _Thank Primus,_ Scrapper thought _._ He just did not know what would have happened if Long Haul hadn’t done that.

“I really don’t wanna get than gun out again,” the truck growled. “Now you will cut this load o’pit and listen. Because _neither_ of you is gonna benefit from an all out scrap and _nor_ do you wanna break your fist on my loading tray. _Believe me ...  
_

 

A few moments had passed. Scrapper could do little for Mixmaster, it seemed. Besides, he'd just _had_ to recover enough of his leadership protocol to get up and stand beside Long Haul. Now he was doing little more than just standing. But at least he was _there …._

He glanced uncertainly at Hook and Bonecrusher from time to time, now sitting disgruntledly side by side. Scrapper was still glad of the quiet but determined authority of the truck next to him.

“First and foremost, we have _no_ idea how Galvatron’s gonna respond to this,” Long Haul was saying. “We know that Megatron would probably have accepted it – just. Although he’d probably have grabbed the protoform at seperation and had it whisked off to the war academy or some such thing …”

A chill went through Scrapper’s spark. Could that kind of thing really happen?

Even when the others were shouting, wonderment at a _creation of his own_ had still been flashing through his processor. Scrapper still could not believe he was actually welcoming that prospect. And – even crazier – his fleeting thoughts had been all about … well – holding the newly detached protoform in his arms and then nurturing it; guiding it into maturity. He hadn’t even considered it getting taken away.

But he should - of course. They were Decepticons, weren’t they? Creations were raised to be functional in the cause, not have nests made for them, and home comforts lavished. He glanced at Hook, wanting support – but his would be co-creator was staring straight ahead.

Scrapper’s spark froze. Hook thought the taking away was a good idea! Did he? Scrapper didn’t know. In fact, he realized with dismay that he knew very little about Hook’s intentions at all, once the ‘act’ was over.

Oh how Scrapper wished the others hadn’t come in, and that it was just him and Hook here now. He could have just lain here with him and they could have carried on talking. It wasn’t just that Scrapper wanted to hear the technicalities. It had seemed as though he had never really talked to Hook before – and there was so much to say.

They must talk more – about this. Then, when they’d decided that their creation – their sparkling – definitely wasn’t going to the war academy, they could recover their previous arousal and they could get on and bring it into being....

“Galvatron’s that unhinged, for all we know we’d find ourselves branded soft sparks and on the receiving end of a fusion canon.” The others muttered agreement with Long Haul, and Scrapper was again shocked to attention. He looked at Hook in alarm – but the crane was now staring at the floor.

“Already, I heard rumors that we ain’t been too popular for hiding ourselves here,” Long Haul went on. “That we’ve been taking too long with the base. If he finds out this is the reason …”

// _Hook!_ // Scrapper rasped into the com, unable to stay silent any longer. //What are we gonna do? I can’t _not go ahead_ with this now. I – need it. But what if something like that happens?//

//It will be all right,// Hook commed back. //Don’t fret, Scrapper.// But Scrapper couldn’t help fretting. And he wished more than ever that Hook was over _here,_ that he knew what the crane was thinking.

“Hey – well Scrapper hasn’t actually started the sequence yet, has he?” Scavenger now looked more cheerful. “I mean – he’s still in pre-rep mode. If it’s too much trouble, then why doesn’t Hook just block things form going further? We could pretend the whole thing never happened – it would be just like before.”

 _No!_ Scrapper heard a stifled gasp come out of his vocalizer. This time Hook did react. His optics flared coldly. He went to speak - but Bonecrusher was already talking. “Oh yeah – right!”  the bulldozer scoffed. “Have you ever been in the grip of a replication imperative Scavenger?’

“Have you?” Scavenger sneered.

“As a matter of fact…”

“Be quiet!” Hook snapped. “We all know that’s not an option. Long Haul, you were saying?”

Scavenger gave both Long Haul and Hook a long, sulky look. Long Haul ignored it – and Bonecrusher and Hook’s dark stares. Unhappy sounds issued from Mixmaster.

“Now fact is, it’s happened,” Long Haul said. “Dunno when, but I do know from what we just er …” he hesitated, obviously embarrassed, “from what we experienced then, even through the closed gestalt, that Scrapper’s in an advanced stage of pre-replication, an’ he needs to see the implant process through.”

“We also know...” Long Haul held up a hand when Scavenger went to interject, “that – whether the rest of us like it or not, Hook’s gonna be the co-replicator …”

Hook could not disguise his pleasure (or relief, Scrapper noticed happily). He smiled, smugly. “Thank you Long Haul….”

A fresh round of indignation ignited. “What – just like that?” Bonecrusher growled. “I thought we were gonna discuss this!” His fists clenched again.  

“Yeah – where’s the logic?” Scavenger protested indignantly. He got up, his tail twitching angrily.

They were all on their feet again. Scrapper could feel the tension building like the inside of a volcano. He did not _want this._ No – hell – he didn’t like it at the best of times. A gestalt couldn’t even _function_ with bad feelings in the team, let alone reproduce various members of it. Even mechs like Onslaught recognized the need for cohesion and stamped out conflict at every opportunity – or tried to, anyway. And now …

“It's obvious, ain’t it?” Long Haul snapped.

“It's not fair! That isn’t a reason …” Scavenger complained.

“This ain’t a discussion …” Bonecrusher snarled.

Scrapper had to say something. Was decision making still not his main function in the Constructicons? Besides which, this was a decision about _him_. “It’s because I _want_ it to be Hook!”  He burst out. “I would always have wanted that. I’m sorry. It’s how it is!”

And now they were all looking at him. And there was surprise there, and disappointment, but a respectful element, more like Scrapper was used to. Even Mixmaster seemed better.  Which took a weight off of Scrapper; even more than when Long Haul had taken control.

“Look – I can see how you all feel,” Scrapper said, tired suddenly and really wanting this ‘meeting’ over with. “And believe me, I didn’t choose things this way. I didn’t even know what was going on until Hook explained it. After that, I was all from insisting on a thoroughly logical evaluation. It was just that …”

And Primus be darned, if he wasn’t coming over all emotional again, his spark paining in his chest. “I didn’t – realize it would be this way. But Hook and I discussed it and we decided that … I decided that …”

“I’m sorry,” he looked at Bonecrusher and Scavenger. The fire seemed to have gone out of them. “It’s not that I don’t …but it's my choice. I want Hook.” And then emotion overcame him, and he became lost for words.

He found Long Haul’s hand on his arm, then, closely followed by Hook’s arm around him. He melted against the crane, offlining his optics and leaning heavily against him. And instead of angry words there was a different tone in the voices.  “Hey buddy, I’m sorry ..” he heard Bonecrusher mutter, and something from Scavenger that sounded like agreement.

“We need you all.” Amazingly, Hook sounded emotional too. “As I told Scrapper, I may be the co-creator but you’ll all have a part. And Long Haul’s right. We need to stick together. We want this sparkling in our ranks. Not – taken away somewhere or …” his voice trembled, “worse.”

“Besides,” he went on. “Scavenger’s right. What we did – it wasn’t a success as you would also have sensed. There’s still a chance that…” he hugged Scrapper, “we can’t replicate together. In which case it will be open to somebody else to try.”

Scrapper found himself not able to contemplate that possibility, so unbearable were the implications. But mainly, he was just pleased to be next to Hook, and to feel the familiar support again that now emanated from his team -  his beloved team, his _family_ -  who of course were a part of this no matter who was the co-creator. He onlined his optics to see Scavenger looking at him with wide and guilty optics.

Scrapper managed a thin smile. “It's all right Scav,” he said. “I know I'm not - myself - at the moment. But we’ll talk – later. But Hook’s right – we’re all a part of this.

………………

Long Haul had departed with a somewhat subdued Scavenger. Scrapper was now talking to Mixmaster, who looked distraught again. Hook stole a glance at the mixer. A surge of guilt went through him. It should be him over there, because he and Mixmaster had had that _thing,_ and he had always promised....

“Hook – can we talk?” Despite the events of earlier, Hook was, at that moment, very glad of Bonecrusher’s intervention.

“I just wanted to apologize,” Bonecrusher muttered after they stepped outside. “Seeing Scrapper like that brought on the old urges. And it made me feel – protective.”

It was really quite rare for the bulldozer to apologize. Hook nodded curtly, thinking that if it were him he probably wouldn’t have done so. He didn’t return the courtesy. He didn’t like the ‘old urges’ part. Besides which, why would he deign with an apology? He had never _done_ so before – and wasn’t about to start now.

“I just wanted to see that you got the whole drift of what this meant,” Bonecrusher went on. “And that whoever co-replicated knew what they were doing.”

 _“Excuse me?”_ Hook could hardly believe it. Any benevolence he might have felt evaporated instantly. “So what – you’re an expert?” he snapped. No wonder he didn’t do apologies.

But Bonecrusher laughed softly. A lopsided grin appeared on his faceplates. “You could say that. Look, I’ve had a few experiences with replication, both on the carrier and co-creation end.”

 _What?_ “Surely you can’t mean you’ve – _had_ – a sparkling?” Hook asked incredulously.

“Couple, actually. Long time ago – before we all got together. First one wasn’t meant to be that way but the other half of the equation decided she didn’t wanna be the carrier …” he chuckled, “in those days I just assumed the femme would be. Funny how you change your tune over the eons, ain’t it? Anyway yeah – there was that one. The second was an accident – but that was all right. I knew what to expect by then.”

Hook was speechless. And a sudden rush of realization filled him. _How many other things do I not know about the team?_ Because yes - that was Scrapper’s job, the ‘touchy feely’ stuff. Scrapper and Long Haul. Whereas he, Hook, had always focused - well – more on the functional mechanics.

Bonecrusher was still regarding him with amusement. “They weren’t the easiest of replications. But they survived – believe it or not. Didn’t see them for a long time, because in the end the co-creators raised them, and then they got jobs in other quadrants before the war,” he grinned. “But that’s been the great thing about Cybertron reconnecting with the Vicinity Worlds, ain’t it? I saw them both lately. You should meet ‘em some time!”

Hook still couldn’t get over it. For four million years he had shared a spark box with this guy, not to mention a gestalt. And he hadn’t known _this?_   Why hadn’t it shown up in routine maintenance?

 _But then it wouldn’t, would it?_ Because after the sequence was complete and the protoform detached, the body returned to its normal non replicative function. No obvious traces lingered. Though now, Hook recalled that Bonecrusher had had a slightly expanded pelvic cavity – which he had put down to old injuries from the bulldozer’s countless fights and brawls.

“Of course, that’s just the two I carried,” Bonecrusher was saying. He laughed, “a fraction compared to the ones I’ve co-created since I got tied up with you lot. That’s why I thought you could maybe use my help.”

Hook felt anger rising again. “You should have reported these instances!” he snapped.

“Why? Co-creators and I always went our separate ways. They did fine without me …” Bonecrusher chuckled, “for some reason they didn’t want me around full time, reckoned I might be a bad influence. Which was as well, wasn’t it? Never been on bad terms with most of ‘em though,” he grinned, “an’ they never did forget the initiation.”

Hook was still annoyed about the earlier ‘implications.’ “I might remind you, Bonecrusher, that I am a medic. I hardly need to be told how to do it. Especially in the context of somebody else’s experiences!”

Bonecrusher folded his arms. “Yeah!” he said. “But it’s never been your thing, has it Hook? You're a surgeon. An’ lately, before this happened - if I’ve been seeing things right - you’ve been sending mechs outside the team with even a hint of a replication agenda straight off to First Aid.”

“That’s because we’ve been in combat. I haven’t exactly had time for much more than battle injuries – in case you hadn’t noticed!”

Although that wasn’t, as Hook well knew, the only reason. Up until now, he’d always found the emotional stuff that accompanied replication utterly irritating to have to deal with. And First Aid was so infuriatingly well suited to it. Hook had preferred to make his referrals, and just forget about them.

But it wasn’t the point. “I’ve also had a fair few _practical_ experiences myself!” he snapped. “I do know how to organize my – equipment. And execute the other aspects of the program!”

A cynical leer appeared on Bonecrusher’s faceplates. “You followed those ‘experiences’  up did you Hook?” He raised an optic ridge. “The implants were successful? The protoform development complete? The separation non problematic? The formative years a success?”

“Well, I  uh …”

The truth was, Hook had no idea. His previous experiences had consisted of fierce attraction to the other party and a need to interface. The overwhelming urge to feel connection on all levels had - as with Scrapper - added an extra ‘rush.’

But whilst the notion of another version of himself had also undeniably added a thrill, what happened after that was not in Hook’s sphere of knowledge. None of them had been a team mate, or anyone close. In fact, ‘distance’ after the ‘encounters’ had been essential – seeing how all of them were Hook’s patients.

“I’d be ready to wager that your past ‘carriers’ weren’t exactly in a position to be ‘parents’ with you …” Bonecrusher chuckled.

Another uncomfortable fact was dawning. _He knows more about me than I do about him._ And that, of course, was intolerable.

“It’s really none of your business!” Hook snapped. “And just because I’m a surgeon doesn’t mean I don’t know the replication sequence intimately! I’ll have you know that I downloaded my old manual during the procedure with Scrapper, so I’m quite capable of looking at this in a scientific manner.”

“Ah but that’s just it,” Bonecrusher said. “Scientific ain’t always the best when it comes to this. “I mean – you’re telling me you _downloaded_ an _old_ manual _during_ the procedure? And you went on reading it _while Scrapper was overheating?_ Holy fraggin’ pit Hook, that sounds so sexy. It must have been such a riveting lay.”     

The dripping sarcasm in the wake of what had hardly been a success was too much. Hook’s temper snapped. “Well I guess this whole thing was a mistake!” he threw his hands in the air, the cranearm swinging, the hook clunking loudly against his shoulder. “I guess it had better be you after all, Bonecrusher. Or maybe not? Maybe it should be Onslaught or Motormaster? Because _that’s_ who he suggested you know!”

Bonecrusher’s optics widened. “Seriously?”  

“Why not them?” Hook shouted. “Why don’t we give them a call? I’m sure one of them would be perfect. I’m sure they both conduct replication sequences in a _suitably unscientific way_.”

“Hey chill, Hook! I already said it oughtta be you. I’m just tryin’ to help …” a note of genuine concern had entered Bonecrusher’s voice.

 _I don’t need your help,_ Hook wanted to retort. But now he thought that maybe, just maybe, he did. He thought again of the first attempt – and failure. It was true – there were several of the more subtle aspects of this reproductive business that he _didn’t_ ‘get.’

And Hook did want this to work. His spark swelled with a sudden ache. He was conscious now of Scrapper’s absence, the need for him, the need to recommence the sequence - successfully.

Bonecrusher seemed to understand. He clapped a hand on Hook’s shoulder. “All I’m sayin’ is you won’t find the secret to success in text manuals,” he said. “And you wanna make it even better?  Well I know I ain’t the universe’s answer to a lotta things – but I do know about this. Why don’t you just listen to what I have to say?”

Hook nodded. _Bonecrusher. Who would have thought it?_

“Very well then,” he said. “But don’t take too long about it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same *Warnings* for mechpreg. This chapter - acts prior to, and concept discussed, and there is some tactile smut. Otherwise, this fic is fluffy and angsty. Earlier and later chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky). Fic is about mecpreg, replication, problems in 'pregnancy,' offspring/sparklings and issues in youngling-raising.
> 
> Bonecrusher's 'advice' continues, as Scrapper learns the truth about Mixmaster. Bonecrusher continues to surprise Hook (in more ways than one) - but the instigation of one his 'ideas' leads to more anxiety - and then some unexpected happenings.

“No manuals, Hook. No technicalities. This thing – it ain’t about that. Its about mergence and mutual appreciation. Wanting to combine yourselves to make a life. You’re not ‘fragging’ here. You’re – _making love.”_

As if there had not been enough surprises today. _That?_ From _Bonecrusher?_ But whereas before Hook might have scoffed, he’d now been forced to conclude – all be it reluctantly – that the bulldozer did seem to know what he was talking about.

Well – clearly. After they’d put to rest the possibility of other co-replicators, Bonecrusher had described the rest of the process. “You gotta feel your way along – make it happen in stages,” he’d said.

Hook had frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like – you don’t just launch into it. The foreplay can take ages. Oh I know how tempting it is to just leap in – believe me – but the wait’s worth it, I’m tellin’ ya!”

Hook had clenched his denta, in a great effort not to allow annoyance at being ‘lectured’ – or the fact that he darned well _couldn’t_ wait - to overcome him again.

“Perhaps you could be more explicit!” he’d snapped.

“Well - like -  you prep the carrying chamber and get that in order. _Then_ you establish the data connection and get the programming sorted. _Then_ you have sparksex – get that energy flowing. _Then_ you put it all together. That’s a whole lot better than tryin’ to synchronize the whole lot at once, and I tell you what – _phew_ …” Bonecrusher had whistled. “When it does come together – you’re in orbit.”

“You do it all in a caring, sharing kinda way of course,” he’d added.

Feeling annoyingly inadequate once more, Hook had wondered again if his former ‘efforts’ had ever actually implanted. A surge of emotion had gone through him at how much he wanted to things to work this time. He swallowed hard, masking it with a ‘pragmatic’ air.

“Can you go – er - _all the way_ with each of those things?” he’d asked, stiffly.

“Course!  So long as the three systems aren’t connected.”

“Even with preparing the chamber?”  

“Especially that!” Bonecrusher had grinned. “Provided the data merge isn’t connected. Yeah – you can have some real fun warming up with that. Really go hard at it.” He clenched a fist. “Nothing like a good ol’ spike and valve release is there?”

That was more like Bonecrusher. But now, after the ‘love’ comment, Hook was confused. “Exactly – and when _you_ interface with us, its - like _that_ , isn’t it? It’s not really – loving.”

Bonecrusher laughed.  “Yeah well, I like it that way with you guys. You like it too – especially you, Hook. It’s a Constructicon thing ain’t it?’

A philosophical look came about him. “Interfacing comes in many forms. And there’s lotsa different ways to go about it, depending on the circumstances. Ain’t there?”

Hook nodded, belying his thoughts. In his experience, that wasn’t so. It was all quite simple: You built up charge. You found somebody. You explored them and fragged them – in whatever way that took your fancy. You enjoyed yourself, and it released the charge. You returned to normal.

Replication merely heightened the experience. That way things stayed uncomplicated.

Bonecrusher was looking at him. “Thing is, with you its always been – _functional._ Hasn’t it, Hook? You’ve never really connected on the emotional side of things. With anyone. That’s why we were pissed at first. Couldn’t see how you could possibly wanna do this for anything but your own pleasure. You’ve always been – detached..." He clapped him gently on the shoulder, "perhaps you need to think about that now...”

Hook found his spark aching strangely again amid confused thoughts. It was true - but why was that suddenly an issue? Did he perhaps - _want_ \- it to be different this time?  Had he even, perhaps, always wanted, in the back of his processor, something more with Scrapper?

Bonecrusher raised an optic ridge. Hook felt angry again. Bonecrusher had no right to criticize like this! Or make complications. It wasn't as though Hook ever had _complaints -_ besides, his methods were the reason successful interfacing was part of routine gestalt maintenance – and sometimes patient care. “We’ve functioned well, haven’t we?” he snapped. "And you seem to like it!"

“Oh yeah, we sure have …” Bonecrusher regarded him sympathetically. “But you got some lost time to make up for in other areas, Hook. You see - you gotta get to _know_ Scrapper. I mean – really know him.”

Now that _was_ outrageous. Hook’s temper snapped. “I’m Scrapper’s second in command,” he snarled. “He chose me especially – eons ago. We’ve worked together. We may not have ‘come together’ in the intimate way you’re evidently so accomplished at, but I frag him on a regular basis. I have access to his intimate functioning and medical details.” He glared at the bulldozer.  “This is impertinent Bonecrusher!”

“I mean as a _person.”_ Bonecrusher rolled his optics. “Not just a leader or gestalt partner or even frag buddy – or even now as a co-replicator. You need to _understand_ him. Its kinda necessary if you’re ever gonna understand your sparkling. And ….” he rolled his optics, “you probably won’t do that. But this’ll help.”

“Tell you what,” he said when Hook didn’t answer. I’ve got an idea. Mix is gonna need a bit of cheering up. I think we oughtta leave Long Haul to deal with Scavenger, but the rest of us? Why don’t we have a night on the town?”

Hook looked up in surprise. He hadn't expected that. “You mean like – a date?” he asked incredulously.

“Yeah! A foursome. It’ll work wonders. Trust me.”

Hook thought uncomfortably then of Mixmaster. There was a reason for avoiding 'involvement.' He had no wish to revisit it tonight, in that particular context. “I don’t do _dates_ ,” he said stiffly.

Bonecrusher grinned. “Well what say you just started!” he clapped him on the shoulder. “You wanna get yourselves in a nice mellow state of mind to start this thing properly? You wanna have Mix relaxed and not hung up about what went down before? There’s nothin’ better, believe me. Besides..." he grinned, “there ain’t nothin’ Scrapper likes more than wining an' dining.”

 _With who,_ Hook nearly blurted out. A hundred rekindled doubts flooded in; but then a new resolve seemed to rise form his depths. He would be 'the one' with Scrapper. Was that not essential if they were to 'get to know' each other? Other mechs should no longer be tolerated. Hook would see to it that the need for them was removed.

He regarded Bonecrsuher through narrowed optics. ”I guess,” he said curtly.

………………

“I did not manipulate the programming, Mixmaster,” Scrapper insisted. “Honestly.”

At least he’d gotten the mixer to come back to the room; the one where the ‘confrontation’ had earlier taken place.

Before, Scrapper had explained how surprising events had been in the hope that it might make his team mate feel better. But Mixmaster had flounced off, stammering that he really didn’t want to - _couldn’t_ \- hear any more.

Whatever else may be happening, Scrapper was still Constructicon leader. He’d gone striding after the mixer and demanded – firmly – that he come back.

But now, Mixmaster looked so sad again that Scrapper felt totally at a loss. "I know you didn’t m-m-mean it" he said sadly. "I'm just – d-d-disappointed. You see Hook an' me - we kinda p-p- planned for this."  
   
That was extraordinary news to Scrapper. "You did?"  
   
Mixmaster nodded glumly. “We were c-close once a long time ago. He reckoned I'd go into r-r-rep mode some time, and I'd make a good – r-replicator.” His face took on a wretched appearance. "I know that was a while b-b-back but I still l-l-love him ..."  
   
Scrapper was shocked. He knew, of course, about Hook and Mixmaster's 'association' before the war, when Hook was an intern at Kaon Infirmary and Mixmaster was a pharmacist. He knew also that Hook had helped get Mixmaster's sentence reduced when he was jailed for drug trafficking, and had then helped him much over the eons as he wrestled with various addictions and afflictions.

He'd never realized things had gone that far. It occurred to him how 'functional' the gestalt bond could be, and how events that fell into some categories were most definitely not transmitted. Scrapper had to squash a sudden annoyance with Hook. This was, surely, something that _should_ have been drawn to his attention; especially given the current state of affairs.  
   
Mixmaster still wore a wretched look. "I'm sure there'll be a chance in the future," Scrapper said, not now sure _what_ to say. "And then I - er - I won't mind if Hook co-creates that one as well."

 _Although would I?_ The thought made him vaguely uncomfortable.   
   
"No there w-w-won't," Mixmaster said miserably. "Hook said that with g-g-gestalts, the chance only comes up occasionally and when that happens, it never comes up ag-g-gain."  
   
“But it might?" Scrapper ventured, feeling guilty for hoping Mixmaster was right.  
   
"It w-w-won't. Its not just the ch-chance thing.” Mixmaster’s intakes let out a long, hissing sigh. “I've gone and m-m-messed myself up, Scrapper. Everyone always said I played around with too many of my c-c-concoctions!"  
   
"Well I wouldn't say that was necessarily the case." But Scrapper really _didn't_ know. And now he wished Hook would get back here. What was he _doing_ with Bonecrusher?  
   
"Oh well," Mixmaster sniffed," I s-s-s'pose I oughtta be pleased. I'm more g-g-glad its you than any of the others. And I'm glad its h-him.” He brightened. “I can give you some stuff I’ve had ready. It helps the p-p-programming.”  
   
"That would be good,” Scrapper said; though really, he would have confessed to some misgivings. Wasn't it irresponsible to take substances during a replication sequence? Not that Scrapper knew much about that, but he’d seen all the negative publicity. He didn’t even _do_ drugs. It was as well, perhaps, that Mixmaster _hadn’t_ succeeded in his ambitions.

But anything to comfort the mixer just now….  
   
"Hope Hook doesn't to to you what he did to m-m-me," Mixmaster seemed to say it more to himself. "He's s-scared of getting close. That's why he n-n-never did. With anyb-body. He r-runs away..."  
   
An uncomfortable shiver went through Scrapper. But he was relieved, enromously, that just then the door opened, and Hook and Bonecrusher came in. A surge went through his spark. He was too happy when Hook came over and wrapped an arm around him - possessively around him - to pay attention to Mixmaster’s agonized expression.

Hook squeezed him. Scrapper melted inside. Right then Hook - and their future creation - were easily the greatest things that had ever happened to the Constructicon leader. And although infused with the notion that _this was ridiculous_ , his spark sang  with a sentimental longing never to be away from Hook again, or for them to have anyone but each other.

If only Mix's words didn't linger in his thoughts. _"He runs away..."_

  
  
A few moments later, Bonecrusher wore a lopsided grin. He had his arm around Mixmaster now which, to Scrapper's relief, the mixer seemed happy about - or as happy as he could be. _They are all precious,_ Scrapper thought, a flood of emotion sweeping through again.   _My family…._  .  
   
Hook pulled him close. Heat radiated between their bodies. Scrapper could barely contain his excitement. _This is it_ , Scrapper thought. He could not wait for Bonecrusher and Mixmaster to go.

But other ideas seemed to be in play. "You're taking us all on a d-d-date?" Mixmaster was saying. His face lit up, happily. Confused, Scrapper looked at Hook for an explanation.

//Bonecrusher says we shouldn’t rush things/// Hook said solemnly into the com. //And that we should get to know each other better before we – try it again.//   

Bonecrusher had been advising Hook? Apparently so, for Hook was now looking at the bulldozer, as though waiting for instructions.

Scrapper didn't know whether to be more amazed by that ot what Hook had just said. He savoured instead the extraordinary affection that now radiated from the crane, allowing himself to bask in what, he thought happily, he had secretly always wanted. It was like being blanketed by a cozy tarpaulin. 

And what was this? Hook was going to – _date_ him? At some point in the not too distant past, Scrapper may have laughed. Now, nothing had ever been more touching – or seemed more appealing.

Scrapper _loved_ eating out. How nice to share that with Hook - who never went anywhere, let alone with him. He should forget what Mixmaster had said. He thought of Hoist. Jilted lovers were always hung up - even when the jilting had been long ago.

"Just let me polish up a bit first," he said brightly, detaching himself.

.......

As they waited, Hook found Bonecrusher looking at him with an expression more than merely advisory. The red optics glinted. “I have to say, the two of you are looking darned good,” he said. “Of course, the carrier pretty much has to stick to the co-creator. But there’s nothing to stop the co-creator from interfacing with –“ he raised an optic ridge, “ _other_ partners. Especially team members.”

Although the impending outing had helped to quell Hook's charge, Bonecrusher's inherent attractiveness plucked at his relays. It was magnified by long vorns of connection and - there was no real doubt - very satisfactory interfacing.

“I just wanted to make it clear that whatever I said earlier wasn’t to mean that it wasn’t good when we did it.” Bonecrusher’s optics coasted over Hook’s frame, making his circuits sing. “In fact its _real_ good. I’ve always found fraggin’ you spectacular, Hook.” 

A finger traced down Hook’s arm, spinning one of his wheels. “Don’t be afraid to ask for a bit of relief – at any time you might need it.”

Hook was tempted to shove him off, to punish him for being so _damnably composed_. Except that his interface circuits were throbbing, wildly; and hell – now his energy levels were going through the roof. Interestingly, invading notions of _how Scrapper might feel about that_ nagged Hook's thoughts - yet this did not stop him form itching to grab Bonecrusher, to demand his raging needs be quelled. If only they could just have a quickie....

Yes - that might take the edge off. Hell - _something_ should; because how in the name of Primus was he supposed to sit in a restaurant like _this?_ “I’d like to …” Hook looked around - though in fact, the thought of Scrapper was now a lot further from his mind.

Before Hook could say more, Bonecrusher was kissing him sensuously, hands caressing Hook’s helm, the bulldozer’s hot glossa somehow snaking into Hook’s mouth. Heat radiated as Bonecrusher’s powerful body and huge treaded thighs pressed against his own.

Hook grabbed at the other’s aft, grinding against him and kissing back with urgent enthusiasm.  Bonecrusher’s energy field throbbed with sudden intensity and Hook’s charge stabbed in a sharp peak. His energy field flared. A blue wave laced with the faint crackle of sparks momentarily engulfed them.

“Ooh-ooh, nice!”  Bonecrusher cackled, withdrawing from the kiss and using Hook’s shoulders to steady himself. His voice was still husky with un-spent charge. A shudder went through him. “Whoo! That’s what I’ve always liked, Hook – you’re so responsive. You really turn me on. Now -“ he backed away. “Straighten up. They’re coming back.”

Hook backed away, attempting to dissipate the haze of part-overload as footsteps sounded outside. A look of triumph was clear on Bonecrusher's face. “You’re enjoying this!” Hook snapped, reflecting in annoyance that the bulldozer's own lack of overload would matter not. There was nothing the he liked more than holding off for spectacular climaxes later in the piece.  _  
_

Bonecrusher chuckled.  “Believe me, I’m gonna enjoy this whole thing almost as much as you.”

……………

In times to come, Hook would reflect that it was a little later, as the restaurant tinkled around them, that the sequence really began. He would conclude that the ‘date’ was both a turning point on an inevitable and intractable path, and something of a 'test.' But that had not yet happened. Not quite yet.

At that point - still early in the night - it was simply that, as the lights of Pavonia scintillated against the dark magenta sky and reflected on the water through the large windows across the room from where they sat, Scrapper, seated opposite, had never been more appealing.

Hook could not get over it. He'd never realized his boss was so – stunning. Scrapper’s very voice sent currents zipping through his circuits. He could barely look at the unmasked face, now one of intricate beauty. It was not long before his interface relays were in knots, his spark throbbing in waves of sheer longing. The episode with Bonecrusher seemed already distant, an irrelevant triviality.

The more the evening wore on, the more Scrapper's appeal seemed to blossom like the flames of a fireigniting. After a while, Hook looked away, afraid that his cables night pop, blue light might suddenly burst forth from his chest in a radiant show of glory. He shifted, awkwardly. Darn it - in all his eons of interfacing with the gestalt – and out of it – he had never reacted like this! Especially to Scrapper.

And it was _not_ just the replication prospect, Hook was certain. A kind of wonder accompanied that fact; yet Hook reeled at the implications, the loss of his carefully nurtured control, so evident at the start of this. It was – unnerving. And, right now, downright inconvenient. Worse, he seemed powerless to stop it.

Scrapper, however, seemed perfectly composed. On the contrary, he seemed to be having – fun.  He chatted, comparing the restaurant – Praxian owned, apparently, by those who had sought to authenticate a Cybertronian environment - with other lesser establishments. A rapt Bonecrusher and Mixmaster listened attentively.

Hook injected coolant, trying to dial things down. But he couldn’t seem to lessen the effect. Scrapper’s so _eloquent,_ he found himself thinking. So – _amazing._ Eloquent and sophisticated and amazing - not to mention _excruciatingly_ hot. Every bit as much as the Autobot Grapple.  

Hook’s optics followed Scrapper’s gesture towards a mural next to the servery. The words ‘excellent reproduction’ were directed at a 3D image of Praxus in the Golden Age. He was filled with pride at Scrapper’s knowledge, his cleverness, the ease with which he moved in artistic realms.

Yet dark things stalked, specters lurking in wait. Medicine and battle injuries were Hook’s domain- not aesthetics. The differences between them, his own adequacy, rose again, a demon hiding in the shadows. _You don’t really know him...._ the conversation with Bonecrusher echoed.

Hook sighed. Chest aching, he poured a drink in an attempt at distraction. This was Scrapper, fror Primus sake. _What had he started?_

Another look at Scrapper, a sharp sparktwang. _What if its not like this for him? What if he changes his mind? A_ nd worse: _What if the failure early was evidence of our - incompatibility?_ Whatever this was, it _had_ started - at least for him, Hook thought wretchedly. He dreaded, most of all, that ‘it’ would be taken away.

Scrapper was expounding arches and spires. A steady heaviness grew. A waitmech appeared and handed out menus. Hook noticed Scrapper’s hands, the splendid crafting, the intricacy of the fingers. His mind went back to earlier, before their 'attempt,' to when he'd watched Scrapper and fantasized about their creation. Scrapper brushed his helm as he smiled at the waitmech. A cascade of rippling currents burst from Hook’s spark and he nearly cried out.

“Sir?” The waitmech had a kind, uncomplicated face. Hook took the menu, his chest throbbing.

“What do you think?” Scrapper's optics were upon him from the other side of the table. “I must say, this feels kinda weird,” the loader chuckled. “I never thought I'd be in here on a date with you, Hook."  
   
Hook despaired. He sounded so – unaffected! Passion turned to seething doubt as, the dark things that swirled inside rushed up and surfaced.  

"Have you been in here often?" Hook had to know.  
   
Scrapper looked taken aback. His smile disappeared. "Yes,” he said. “Quite a few times.”  
   
"With Bonecrusher?”

“Sometimes. He goes with Scavenger and Mixmaster to Rubycon more often. That’s more his scene."  
   
“What do you _do_ on these dates?” It came out more sharply than intended.

Stunning magenta optics regarded Hook. He fought down more of the previous sensations. “We usually just talk…"

"About what?"  
   
"About projects. And politics. Sometimes I bounce ideas off my - companion. And sometimes I ask their advice …"

But then Scrapper changed too. A look of fear came about him, of dismay. “Why the third degree, Hook?” he whispered.  
   
"I’m just interested!” The change was - discomforting. Hook felt himself soften. Yet - well might Scrapper look dismayed! Other dates _._ _Bouncing ideas_ \- had Scrapper not noticed Hook was half dying there just now with need and desire, with – _worship_. “I'll bet that's not all you do on these occasions!" he blurted out.   
   
Scrapper's face went ashen. he glanced around, as though afraid they had an audience. But Bonecrusher and Mixmaster were busy discussing the menu. "Why do you have to be like this?” Scrapper hissed. But at once, his optics turned liquid. //You’re afraid of this, aren’t you?// He whispered into the comm. //You’re going to run away – just like you did when Mixmaster got involved! I’ve been trying to take my mind off it tonight because I can’t bear to think of it. But it’s true, isn’t it?//

“So, what’s it to be then?” Bonecrusher broke in cheerfully. Mixmaster smiled beside him, unaware he was the centre of discussion. Scrapper turned away from Hook, turning to the mixer and pointing out something on the menu. But his face said it all.

A 'look' came over Bonecrusher. He darkened. // _Now_ what?// he growled.

Hook tore his optics away from Scrapper. His spark now ached unbearably, in a different way from before. //Why didn’t you tell me the rest?// he spat at Bonecrusher.

//What _rest?//_

//These _\- feelings._ This spark stuff. The fact that I was going to get insufferably jealous; _and_ the fact that _they’d_ been talking// His optics flickered to the other two.

Bonecrusher let out a big sigh. //Oh mech,// he said. //I always knew it was gonna come to a head one day with you an' Scrapper but nobody ever listened. I can feel things through the bond...// he appeared to think for a minute. //Look - this is just _new_. For both of you…//

Hook was suddenly angry again. //This was a _stupid_ idea!// he snarled. //As soon as we've eaten, I'm outta here. _Don't_ try and change my mind.// 

//Scrapper might not WANT to go.//

//No doubt he won't!  I'll go alone.//

//HOOK!// Bonescrusher's expression was murderous. //He LOVES you...// he sighed again, //do I have to spell it out?//

“All looks p-p-pretty good to me!” The glazed look in Mixmaster’s optics made it clear that he’d had plenty of high grade already (and probably more). He seemed to be having no trouble now ‘dealing’ with the situation. Meanwhile Scrapper's optics deliberately avoided Hook.

//TALK to him!// Bonecrusher growled. Grabbing Mixmaster's wrist, he pulled the surprised mixer to his feet. "We'll place our order at the bar and get some drinks whilst these two make up their minds!" Before Mixmaster could protest, he was hauled away.  
   
Hook's mind was reeling - but now Scrapper was looking at him in such a sparkfelt way that he could not have stayed angry if he'd tried. All the feelings came flooding back - yet with a new found warmth that seemed to chase the shadows away. Reaching across the table, he took Scrapper's hand, feeling the other mech tremble as he did so.  Hook took a deep intake.  "I just want this so much ... I hardly know what I'm saying or doing," he muttered. "I'm afraid..."

He stopped, shocked at the sound of his own voice. It sounded so - odd, darn it. Especially coming from him. Ridiculous, in fact! _I've blown it,_ Hook thought. And now I look like a total jerk - but Scrapper's intakes hitched. The beautifully crafted hand closed around his.

"Hook - Scrapper whispered. “I'm afraid as well. I'm not used to this. I'm - a Decepticon leader. I've always been in control. You and I - I don't ..."

And then, something - _happened._ It was as though time stood still, as though a cocoon  surrounded them suddenly. It seemed that - for a moment - together they were transported away from the restaurant, to a place where it was just them and things were - easier. _I do want to understand you,_ Hook heard himself say - except he didn't say it out loud - yet Scrapper understood. _Yes - you too_ \- Hook undertood that, even though Scrapper's lips never moved.

Scrapper's optics widened. _What is this, Hook ...I don't understand...  
_

_Neither do I...  
_

"We don't have to stay too long…” Scrapper was saying. "I mean, I wouldn't have thought of it at all, until Bonecrusher suggested it."

"OK..." But it was then that a commotion sounded from the direction of the entrance.

"Ch-ch-check it out!" Mixmaster was returning with an armful of drinks. His enthusiasm was evident.

The spell broken, Hook looked up, as heads turned towards the door. He froze...

Two mechs had come in, one large and imposing, the other smaller and a bright shade of yellow. Expensive weaponry gleamed as it was detached and handed to a fawning waitmech, who laughed as though whatever they said would have that effect, whether it was funny or not.

More restaurant staff hovered nearby, seemingly not able to do enough. The first one bowed before he departed, accidentally scraping his chestplates on the barrel of the huge gun. The others burst into fresh mirth.

The big mech turned and said something to the yellow one, who grinned wickedly. The waiters’ sycophantic laughter filled the restaurant, mingling with mutterings from the nearby tables.

Scrapper gasped, and Hook gritted his denta. The wondrous sensations of _just now_ might never have happened at all.

"Onslaught and Swindle!" he growled.

 

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Warnings* Repeat for whole story: M.preg, angst, fluff and in some chapters contain explicit mechsmut (P&P, Spark, Sticky). Fic is about mechpreg, replication, problems in 'pregnancy,' offspring/sparklings etc.
> 
> No particular warnings in this chapter other than a continuation of the above themes and some serious angsty complications for the whole situation.
> 
> Still on their 'date,' Scrapper and Hook struggle with new feelings, confusion, conflicting programs and jealousy.

Oh dear. And the night had just turned from good, to bad, to just plain excellent only a few moments ago. One look at the new arrivals, and all threatened to turn to scrap; for Scrapper had been left with no delusions at all about Hook’s opinion of the Combaticon Commander.

And Scrapper _so_ didn’t want things to go bad. For during their ‘moment,’ a miasma of almost forgotten recall had revealed with vivid clarity that nothing was new about the feelings he had for Hook. 

_Their first meeting. Party. Mixmaster’s. Hook showed up. Colleague from the hospital – or so the chemist had explained...  
_

_Hook’s engineering background. His brilliant mind. A great addition he’d make to the site team – if he could be ‘sidelined’ from medical practice…_

_Scrapper wanted him in other ways. Feelings were mutual. That time - Scrapper pinned in the backroom, succumbing, whimpering and clutching at the crane as overload sizzled through his circuits…._

_Hook went ‘cold’ after. He went off with Mixmaster. It didn’t happen again. Not till Megatron; not till the gestalt. Then it was different…._

Always, though, there’d been the potential for more. Scrapper had wondered, earlier, if this replication thing had happened because of that. He realized now that his earlier euphoria had also been because of that. But Hook had gone distant, and Mixmaster’s words had echoed again, the memories all too clear. 

Dismayed, Scrapper had immersed himself in architecture; the comforting familiarity of what he did well. 

Then here’d been Hook’s ‘questioning,’ and Scrapper’s despair that this whole thing _simply would not work._ But then - Hook’s admission and _that moment_. Hope had blossomed afresh. 

But now… 

Heads turned as Onslaught, all hugeness and gleaming military might, made a beeline for the table. Beside him, Swindle was a gleaming picture of yellow cuteness and appeal. 

Hook was positively seething - Scrapper could tell. The loader’s spark sank – yet he was annoyed. Could Hook not see how Scrapper felt? How it was between them? Could he not desist for _one evening_ with this stupid paranoia? 

Apparently not. _Just grab him and leave._ Scrapper thought. That might be the only way. And now was the chance. 

Only things got more confusing, for Scrapper found he could not do that. No – his coding was shifting, his leadership program asserting. And now he felt - better; for Onslaught was one like himself, with whom he must interact – commander to commander. Relief flooded Scrapper at another familiar strength, untainted by confused emotions. 

Onslaught was at the table. Scrapper stood up. Onslaught held out his hand, a pillar of power and purpose. Scrapper took a deep intake. “Onslaught,” he nodded, pleased at his strategic, professional tone and feeling – with some surprise (he had to confess) – nothing more than that. 

But it seemed Hook’s fears were not ill founded. “My word,” Onslaught said, his hand lingering around Scrapper’s. “You’re looking splendid.” Scrapper shivered as red optics coasted over his frame. Beside him Swindle’s purple orbs sparkled, a grin spreading over the dark face. 

_A creation would cement our alliance._ The thought was definitely there. For a moment, it was almost tempting. But there was movement at the table, and Scrapper was aware once more of his furious would-be creator, of Hook’s _extreme_ displeasure. Torn between desire and sentiment, strategy and logic, now was the moment. Scrapper had to choose. 

Strategy didn’t win. “Thank you,” Scrapper said matter of factly. Smiling firmly, he withdrew his hand. “You’re not looking bad yourselves, actually. It is a pleasure to see you in these excellent surroundings.”  

“Indeed,” Onslaught chuckled. He leaned closer. “I am very partial to them After all, it was _you_ who introduced me.”

 ………….

 Scrapper had – changed. Just like that! Now he was acting as though Hook wasn’t even here.

Folding his arms, the crane glowered deliberately as Scrapper shook Onslaught’s hand, his denta clenching at the obvious flirtation that followed.

Swindle’s approval was evident – and now Bonecrusher and Mixmaster were getting up. High fives with the yellow mech ensued, followed by laughter and back slapping. Still leaning forward, Onslaught said something else to Scrapper, but Hook couldn’t hear it. Good. He remained in his seat.

The Swindle trio sat down, breaking into happy conversation. _Traitors._ But Hook’s focus was on Scrapper. He boiled inside as Onslaught’s entire focus went on the loader. Keen red optics gleamed brightly in the military frame. What were they saying? Hook couldn’t help it, he turned up his audios.  

“I must say you’re looking most well, Scrapper,” It was that smooth voice, the one so many found irresistible ( _apparently_ ). “Last time we met I thought you looked – stressed. Now you’re positively glowing.”

The restaurant seemed to turn, as Hook’s circuits turned heat to ice. He heard Bonecrusher chuckle loudly, Mixmaster cackle behind him. He saw Scrapper was smiling, as though - _entranced_. And then – as if this could actually _get_ worse – Bonecrusher stood up again. He whispered in Onslaughts’ audial.

Onslaught’s optics lit up with delight. “Oh I see!’ he boomed. Hook’s circuits froze again as he took Scrapper’s hand again. “Well congratulations, _congratulations._ That is good news. Good news indeed!” 

It was the last wire. Hook flew to his feet. “Excuse me!” he snarled. Without a word more to any of them, he strode from the table, past Swindle and Mixmaster, past the over curious patrons and the smirking waiters, and out into the Delta Pavonian night. 

……………… 

“Hook! Come back - don’t be such a cog…” 

But Hook kept walking, ignoring the heavy clank of Bonecrusher’s feet on the concourse behind him, the heads that turned as he stormed past. 

//Go away!// he commed. //Go and set up the match you want. I’m sure it will be very good for the Constructicons. Oh yes – didn’t   _I_ say that? Why you bothered with all that stuff earlier I shall never know!// 

“HOOK!” They had reached a narrow point in the concourse. With surprising agility, Bonecrusher zapped ahead of him and blocked his path, shoving him to one side. “What the hell are you playing at?” he yelled. “I thought you guys were sorting it?” 

Hook could hardly believe his audios. “Apparently not!” he roared. “In case you didn’t notice, that proved impossible with certain _intervention.”_ His fists clenched. _“_ I’m sure your military pal back there will work wonders. Go set it up – you don’t need me. And thank you, Bonecrusher, _thank you very much,_ for divulging all our personal information!”

He went to push past. Bonecrusher dodged in front again, shoving him back. The bulldozer looked puzzled for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. “Oh damn – you know what I’m like when I’ve had a few drinks – can’t make myself clear to save my life.” 

“Get-out-of- my- _WAY_ …” Hook would land him one, he swore it, if this went on any longer. 

“Woah, no - Hook…that wasn’t what you think…” Bonecrusher held up his hands.  “I told Onslaught about landing the contract for the Feline Palace. Just as you – _departed_ \- he was asking if there was any chance we could build the Combaticons a similar abode.” 

“Look –“ he went on, “Onslaught’s always a smoothie. He’s like that with everyone – all the ‘bats are. Scrapper was about to talk business – until you carried on like a retard, that is.” He shook his head. “ I dunno what’ll happen now - Scrapper’s most unhappy.” 

Like a dark cloud lifting, a little of Hook’s ire departed, relief flooded in like a sweet panacea. His spark panged briefly, but it was soon replaced by - Hook couldn’t help it - an undeniable sense of satisfaction. Scrapper ought to be unhappy! He wasn't getting off. And neither was Bonecrusher. 

“Oh yes – our favorite commander would like that!’ Hook snapped. “He carries on like royalty. Well Scrapper can go and live in it with him, perhaps? I’m sure they could give a creation a much better start than I could.”   

But at those words, Hook’s spark hurt again. Seriously. Clutching his chest, he bent over. “This is too scary!” he yelled. “I can’t deal with it. I want to stay as we were. If this – _replication_ \- means all this, then the hell with it. Let Onslaught have his way.” 

Bonecrusher laid a hand on his arm; then his own green arm went around Hook’s shoulders, squeezing him gently. “Pit – I never realized…” the bulldozer muttered. “You’ve always been so cool and confident Hook, so detached. But underneath…” He shook his head. “You’ve surprised me this time. Who’d have thought?” 

The noise of footfalls and muted chatter continued around them, the revelers of Pavonia unconcerned about this crisis. Music wafted distantly, a mournful lament to the hopelessness of it all, the stupidity. 

And stupid it was - just plain stupid – this whole thing! Yet Hook felt fluid prick at his optics. “Well I certainly didn’t think it,” he said wretchedly.  “I just thought the sex would be good.” 

Bonecrusher laughed sympathetically. “At least you’re honest,” he said. He took a deep intake. “Look – Onslaught ain’t the slightest bit interested in replicating. He’s got – plans. And we’d do well to keep him close. Don’t think Galvatron’s gonna lead the Decepticons forever. Already his support base …” 

Was it Hook’s imagination, or did the passers by seem to pause, was there a little more interest all of a sudden? Bonecrusher glanced around. “Let’s go back. I can explain – or Onslaught can do that himself.” 

Just how much did _all_ the others know that Hook didn’t? Hook’s anger rose again. “I’ll pass on that,” he snapped. “I’m obviously not in the _inner sanctum._ And I’m still not convinced that the _Commander’s_ motives are as pure as you suggest!” 

Bonecrusher let out a long sigh. “Look - I'm not gonna say this again. I don’t think there’s any doubt you’re gonna replicate and I don’t think there’s any doubt that there’s more happening too. I have _no_ doubt at all that its _fraggin'_ hard! But for the sake of the Constructicons – for Devastator – can’t you try and hang things together?”

Hook felt his spark churn. His optics were misty. “I go back in there, I’m gonna look like a jerk, aren’t I?” he muttered.

“Naa!” Bonecrusher slapped his arm gently. “I said you’d had a medical emergency – and  I’ve just told Scrapper you’re fine and we’re coming back. He’s not _quite_ so anxious and despairing.” Tilting his helm, the bulldozer grinned lopsidedly. “Honestly – what am I gonna do with the two of you?”

Hook digested that. “I just wanna get Scrapper out of there,” he growled. 

“Yeah…” Bonecrusher said. “I think on second thoughts that’s a good idea. But just try and be nice for a little bit longer. And have some fuel – it’ll work wonders.” 

…………. 

Thank Primus, Hook was coming back. Scrapper’s leadership liaison protocols had managed to keep him focused just enough;  but all the while he had been talking to Onslaught, his optics had been shifting to the door, his mind on his comm, wanting nothing other than to call Bonecrusher and find out what was going on. 

_Medical emergency_. Onslaught hadn’t believed it. Nor had Scrapper’s agitation gone past him. His optics had followed Scrapper’s as Hook had left. “Team!” he’d said, his optic on Swindle. “As you rightly said a while back, Scrapper, they sometimes need some firm handling.” 

_Did I say that?_   Scrapper couldn’t recall. And then, he'd reeled inwardly. _Oh primus, there_ was _that time that Onslaught and I had a few here then went to Rubycon. Was it then? Or was it after that, when we…”_

Scrapper didn't want to think about it. Hell, Hook didn’t even _know_ about it. Nor did Bonecrusher for that matter – not that Scrapper could remember it much himself. _Primus don’t let them find out…_

Hook. Scrapper’s thoughts still whirled. _I should have stuck to the team. I shouldn’t have fragged Grapple - or anyone_ _There were times, through all these eons, that it could have been more … but whenever I’ve wanted Hook, he hasn’t been there. Whenever he’s wanted me, I’ve been cold and leaderish…  
_

 _…Hook demanding more interface time, Scrapper saying no. Scrapper deciding that more interface time between him and Hook would be advantageous and Hook saying no_. 

A series of misfires, interspersed with resentment and extra-team affairs. _Yet we’re so close_ , Scrapper thought. _Well when he comes back I’m going to lay it down the line. I’m still his commander. I’m going to tell him how I feel, and also what I think of his – behavior. I’m going to put an end to this nonsense. I’m going to…_

“Are you – all right?” Onslaught was saying? He wore a look of amused curiosity. 

Scrapper picked up his drink. ‘I’m fine!” he said snappily. “Tell me – exactly where were you thinking of locating the new base?” 

As Onslaught began to tell him, he noticed – thank merciful Primus – that Bonecrusher and Hook were back.

……….

Thankfully, the restaurant patrons were too interested in their own affairs to bother looking at Hook. As they came back in, Bonecrusher waved. Hook was surprised to see Vortex, Brawl and even Blast Off seated at a table by the window – a prime position, overlooking the glittering harbour. Vortex and Brawl raised glasses back, grinning. 

“I didn’t know the Combaticons did family outings,” Hook mumbled, noting with dismay that Swindle and Onslaught were still at the table with Scrapper and Mixmaster. 

“Ah well – they get around,” Bonecrusher said. “Like I said, it’ll do as well to stay in with ‘em. Strategy, you know? And Tex owes me a favor.” He chuckled, “there’s the little matter of that protection we’re gonna need.” 

//Hook, what happened?// Scrapper sounded anxious. Hook glanced at the table. He didn’t _look_ anxious, still sitting there with Onslaught, as cool as anything. Hook seethed again. No matter what ‘wasn’t going on’, he could not face the Combaticon commander at close quarters. 

“I think I’ll get another drink,” he said, trying to sound matter of fact. 

Bonecrusher sighed. “All right,” he said. “But don’t take too long about it. I have to see Tex. I’ll try and entice his fellow Combaticons back to their own table.” 

“I don’t think I can handle another scene,” the bulldozer muttered. Beside Hook, Vortex was a paragon of sensibility.

 …….

Raucous laughter erupted from the Combaticons at the window table, and Scrapper noticed that Bonecrusher had joined them. Otherwise, the sounds of the restaurant tinkled around them. A waitmech appeared and looked them over. “We’re not quite ready yet,” Scrapper waived him away.

Swindle got up. “Better get over there,” he grinned, jerking his head toward his team. “Or they’ll have drunk the lot before I get a look in.” Mixmaster raised his glass. “Thanks for saying you can move some of my produce,” he giggled. “B-b-back in business, eh? Hey, wait up - I’ll come say hi to Tex!”

“You really wanna do that?” But Swindle was grinning broadly.

Something told Scrapper he should have been more concerned about what he'd just heard. But he was too glad that they were leaving. He went to get up, to say his farewells – but Onslaught showed no sign of going. He rose, but instead of following Swindle, moved around the table to sit down next to Scrapper. 

Onslaught settled himself in the seat vacated by Mixmaster. “Actually, I’ve a request – something I was gonna ask both you and Hook,” he said. “But since that unruly mob by the window will soon no doubt require my attention, I’ll come straight to the point. Galvatron’s support is waning …” 

This was really, really important; or so Scrapper’s leadership coding made clear. But Scrapper could not keep his optics off Hook, as he waited at the bar. 

The crane’s back was expressive - impatient looking. The cranehook dangled dangerously. Scrapper had not missed his expression before. _Any moment now he’s going to turn around and see Onslaught sitting even CLOSER,_ Scrapper despaired. 

“…I’m fortunate to be no longer bound by the loyalty programming that was such a curse with Megatron,” Onslaught was saying. “A foolish slip on Galvatron’s part – as was giving Swindle medical training. Swindle’s not bad – but its hardly his scene. He needs some help with the program’s permanent eradication. D’you think Hook would help him? Scrapper?” 

 “Oh yes, yes, he – uh – he’ll be right here in a minute, we can ask him,” Scrapper smiled nervously, turning back his attention. “This uh – it sounds very interesting…” 

“Oh it is, believe me,” Onslaught cut in. He picked up his glass, observing how it sparkled in the lights. “You see, its not just Galvatron who’s faltering. I have it on good authority that the Rodimus administration is in serious trouble.” He chuckled conspiratorially. “That naive wannabe Prime wants to watch his back. You never know who might be hovering in the wings, just waiting for the chance to take back Cybertron, now do you Scrapper?” 

“No, that’s right …” Hook now appeared to be arguing with the bartender. _Don’t turn around_ Scrapper pleaded silently _._ He daren’t say anything on the com.With a great effort, Scrapper prioritized the leadership program. “ I – er – I didn’t think you were a creature of politics, Onslaught,” he said. 

“Who says its me?” Onslaught’s guffaw startled Scrapper. But, mercifully, the commander pushed himself back from the table. “I just might have been asked to provide some uh …” he raised an optic ridge, “military support. Should the need arise.”

Hook had gotten his drink. He was fumbling in an arm compartment, whilst other customers fidgeted irritably behind him. Any moment now, he was going to head back here. Any moment now, he was going to see Onslaught sitting there and … 

“That sounds brilliant!” Scrapper raised his glass, pushing his chair back as far away from the commander as he could manage. “Just let me know if us Constructicons can possibly be of assistance!” 

…………….. 

Hook was aware of other customers jostling around him. He hoped they didn’t have as much trouble with the bar staff as he just had. It had taken that ignorant fool three goes to get his drink right. There was no doubt about it; he and Scrapper were off right after the meal.

The crane’s relays had started to tingle again. He now seriously needed to get back to Scrapper, to get this show over with. They would sort this out – they _would._ Onslaught had better be gone at last by the time he was done here… 

“Hey – Hook. HEY!” 

Darn it, now what? Who could Hook possibly know in this place? 

Hook turned sideways – and found himself looking at red and white panels. Very blue optics regarded him from a masked white face. “Well I’ll be darned,” he muttered.  

Next, he was being hugged, warmly. “Its so good to see you out!” First Aid was smiling happily. “They said you were on Delta Pavonus, but I hadn’t come across you at all. I was honestly beginning to think you must have left the Constructicons, Hook.” 

“Well, I’m rather glad I came out then!” 

As had always been the case, the other medic relaxed him. First Aid was like that. He injected wellbeing as thoroughly as Dirge induced misery – even in Hook. “Can’t having folks thinking that, can we?” he chuckled, feeling his programming shift strongly to ‘medical liaison mode.’ “Not when I’m thinking of starting a practice here.” 

And Hook was, of course. But with everything else that had happened, he hadn’t even thought of that – for ages. Now, what a refreshing, positive thought it was. 

“How exciting!” There was nothing but happy encouragement in First Aid’s tone. That _was_ First Aid, refreshing and positive. Well Primus only knew, if things had turned out differently, if Scrapper and then Megatron hadn’t come along, then this was the mech Hook could have ended up with… 

“It is _really_ good to see you,” First Aid was saying, his optics sparkling. “Honestly Hook – I couldn’t have asked for a nicer surprise.” 

“Well me neither …” but it was then that in his periphery, Hook caught sight of Scrapper. And the Combaticon commander, who although now at least sitting at a respectful distance was nevertheless _still there._

Hook’s programming snapped back. He knew his optics flashed angrily. The look of joy disappeared from First Aid’s face, to be replaced by one of genuine concern. “Anything wrong?” he asked anxiously. 

Hook stole another glance over – but at just the same moment, Scrapper chose to look at him. Their optics met momentarily, and a pang went through Hook’s spark. But almost immediately a look of outrage appeared on Scrapper’s face. He had spotted First Aid! 

And even though Hook _knew_ that it truly wouldn’t help, and that Bonecrusher would be _furious,_ smug satisfaction spread through Hook. It was long over between him and Aid, of course - no matter that a small white hand had appeared on his arm now. But how appropriate that Scrapper might get a taste – just a small taste - of how he, Hook, had been made to feel tonight. 

Hook was aware of a wry grin on his face as the idiot bartender returned, no doubt dismayed by his continued presence. This would be a satisfying exercise indeed.

Hook turned charmingly to his one time lover. He patted First Aid’s thigh. “Nothing wrong!” he said brightly. “Why don’t I get you a drink?”  

First Aid beamed. “I’d love one,” he said.

_TBC - and return to smut next chapter methinks_


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dramas at the restaurant find a resolution, followed by new and powerful needs - which must be answered!
> 
> *Warnings* in this chapter for fluff, angst, drama, smut, explicit mech sex, with fluids, as well as warnings re the whole story - mechpreg, mpreg, replication and problems in 'pregnancy.'

“Of course, the matrix didn’t always rule Cybertron…” Onslaught was saying. And then he was on about something else. Scrapper heard “Alpha caste,” and “in hiding,” “Galvatron” and “madness.” It sounded important. But he wasn’t listening.   


All his attention was on the bar. First Aid!  Of all the mechs over all the eons that could turn up it would have to be Hook’s ex. Despite their bickering and one-upmanship in recent years, the crane looked relaxed now - happier than he’d been all night.   


_ Happier that when he was sitting here with me… _   


“I knew I could count on you…” Onslaught was saying.   


Tinkly laughter floated across, as Hook got First Aid a drink. Scrapper could barely harness his dismay. It was hardly forgettable that First Aid had nearly once dissuaded Hook from becoming a Decepticon. If it hadn’t been for Megatron’s influence…   


_ Well it proves one thing, _ thought Scrapper bitterly: for all Hook’s purported ‘jealousy,’ he had not changed. He was still cold, fickle, apt to run after anyone for a frag, even exes - and devoid of any real feelings for Scrapper.   


“Scrapper,” Onslaught was still here. To Scrapper’s surprise, an almost ‘soft’ look had come on to the Combaticon commander’s faceplates.     


He leaned in closer. “Look – I know you and I have been – intimate,” he said. “But this needs to be a professional relationship now. You seem unhappy - I’m sorry if this is disappointing…”   


“Oh no – it s not that…” Oh no it was so much NOT that – but for a moment Scrapper almost felt regretful that it wasn’t.   


Onslaught regarded him kindly. “Many things are going be different around here soon,” he said gently. “I’d just like you to know that, no matter what else, I am your friend. And that the Combaticons are here for your protection.”     


“Thank you…” Moved, Scrapper’s spark warmed to the Combaticon leader – but this avenue was closed, it seemed, even if he were to choose it; not that he would, had ever been seriously going to – for he was hopelessly in love, he conceded, with his team mate at the bar; Hook, who was still enjoying himself immensely…   


Onslaught had left. He was making his way through the ingratiating throng back to his table. Scrapper had not even said goodbye! Peering across, he saw that Bonecrusher and Mixmaster had made themselves at home on the Combaticon table. That was just as well.

“Sirs, I really must insist we serve you, your meals have been ready for quite some time now…”

The waiter was back. He hovered expectantly.  Scrapper glanced again at the bar, and reeled. _Now First Aid had his hand on Hook’s thigh!_   


That was it. Summoning his leadership poise as much as he could muster, Scrapper rose from the table. “Serve my three companions,” he said. “But I won’t be requiring anything. You will be reimbursed for my meal, of course.”   


//What’s going on? // Evidently Bonecrusher had spotted him.   


Scrapper looked over to see the bulldozer squinting in his direction. He didn’t look amused.

//I’m leaving!// Scrapper burst out. //This is all a waste of time!//   


Bonecrusher’s gaze shifted to the bar, and his face became an angry frown. “You stay right where you are!” he growled.

It had been pleasing to Hook that Scrapper looked ‘stressed.’ Except that Hook hadn’t been nearly as happy as he should have; for pain drifted across the gestalt bond, discomforting and equaled only byScrapper’s expression as he struggled - apparently - to keep up conversation with Onslaught.   


_ But that served him right, _ Hook had thought firmly. Onslaught was still _there_ wasn’t he? Still _hopeful?_ He turned back to First Aid.   


“So what have you been up to?” he asked, trying not to look out of the corner of his optic.   


“I’ve been doing my usual.” First Aid laughed, sipping at the drink Hook had bought him. “Very busy with the replication and reproduction outreach service, as it happens.”   


“Right…” Hook gulped at his drink. He rather wished First Aid had not raised _that particular_ topic. “Er – busy? Here? I wouldn’t have thought there was much demand fro a Cybertronian obstetrician!” he said it rather snappily.   


First Aid shrugged. “There’s lots of species here, Hook, and I’m very experienced from my travels.” He smiled. “But there’s a surprising number of carrying Cybertronians here too.When there’s war, a species overcompensates – to replace the numbers, you know? And I think they feel safe on Delta.”   


“Well they might very well not be with him around!” Hook blurted out before he could stop himself, jerking his head towards the table – only to see that the Combaticon commander had left, and that a waiter had replaced him. Scrapper was alone – and he looked utterly dejected.   


Damn! Hook’s spark felt as though it might fall out of his chest. He resisted an urge to leap up and go over. “Er - I mean - that’s your thing after all - replication - isn’t it?” he said.   


But First Aid had always been particularly sensitive where Hook was concerned – one of the things that had bugged Hook during their time together. He too looked to the table and back again. “Is everything OK?” he whispered, lightly patting Hook’s thigh.   


“Of course!” Hook said grandly, determined to show First Aid that he’d never been able to read him as well as he thought, and certainly could not now. “I was just thinking how overserviced this place is. There’s a waiter at our table who was only just there – its enough to give anyone the jitters!”   


First Aid gave a little snicker. “Same old Hook…” but Hook’s attention was elsewhere; because now Scrapper had gotten up; and it looked like he was leaving. One look at his faceplates – and Hook had a very good idea why.   


“I – uh…” Caught between sudden remorse and the impulse to rush over, and the fact that he’d still talked to Onslaught for an _awful long time,_ and that therefore he _ought_ to stay with Aid a bit longer, Hook hovered in indecision.   


“Hook,” First Aid’s voice was a whisper, “is it finally happening between you and Scrapper? About time…”   


“Ah! So that’s where my medic’s been hiding,” the new voice was loud and smooth. It was familiar - but nonetheless Hook started. He turned to see Vortex, grinning broadly. Beside him stood Bonecrusher - looking considerably les jovial.   


“You medical types!” the copter chortled. “Thought I was gonna get stood up!”   


“Tex!” First Aid scrambled off the chair. Throwing his arms around the copter’s neck, he embraced him fondly. Such was Hook’s surprise that he was momentarily distracted from his predicament. His mouth fell open. “You’re going out with _him?”_ he said incredulously.   


Vortex looked amused. First Aid tucked himself under the large black arm whilst the rotors above quivered happily. “It’s another reason I’m here,” he explained. “He’s not half as fierce as he looks.”   


//Hook!// Bonecrusher was regarding him coldly. //Never mind them! The main thing is that you get your aft straight over there.// he jerked his head towards the table.   


“Uh – yeah…” _Scrapper – First Aid – Vortex – Bonecrusher…_ Hook’s thoughts were a jumble.   


“Make sure ya come back later, guys!!” Glass in hand, Vortex was steering Aid away. “See you Hook!” First Aid called out.   


_ “Hook!” _ Bonecrusher wasn’t amused. Turning, Hook saw that Scrapper had sat down again, and was talking to Mixmaster who was there now too. The waiter was back. In ceremonious solemnity, the white mech placed steaming concoctions on the table.   


Scrapper hadn’t gone! And suddenly all Hook wanted was to get back over to him – to hug him, hold him, and somehow make things all right.   


He also needed to _not_ be ordered around by Bonecrusher. “OK – what are we waiting for?” he said, striding away from the bar.   


“Fraggin’ impossible!” he heard the bulldozer mutter.

Scrapper was looking at him in such a way as to almost melt his spark. Bonecrusher made a point of sitting next to the mixer, so Hook had no option but to sit next to Scrapper in the cozy booth opposite.   


As he slid in to his seat, his spark surged overwhelmingly at the closeness of Scrapper, at how Scrapper hadn’t gone off with anyone else or one off at all, even when Hook had acted like an aft. And yes – he had been one. A total, ridiculous aft.   


He would mend his ways; he would – he’d make it up to Scrapper and not get so insufferably jealous. His hand found Scrapper’s and he clasped it, their fingers instantly intertwining.  “Sorry,” he muttered. And could hardly believe he had _actually said that._   


“Thank Primus for that.” Bonecrusher was pouring drinks. He wore a lopsided grin. “Now behave, you two. Quit your paranoia, and show each other some love.” Mixmaster giggled approvingly beside him.   


Scrapper squeezed his hand.//I do love you,// he said.   


“I know,” Hook could hardly get the words out.   


Scrapper could hardly believe Hook had actually apologized. In all the eons he’d known him, _that_ had to be a first. But now he felt guilty himself – for he could sense all too clearly how deeply the crane felt for him. He had been wrong about Aid, just now. Hook was wracked with insecurities - and actually, the earlier possessiveness was rather nice.   


Scrapper wanted to grab Hook, kiss him, tell him how sorry he was and how there would never be anyone in the universe except him. But the excellent meal was before them, and he was mindful of the ‘professional’ expectations Onslaught had voiced, and the Combaticon leader was hardly far away. Scrapper needed to take control.   


And he had news to divulge, of team concern; so he contented himself with the feel of the crane’s warmly pulsing form against his own, of the fact that Hook’s thigh rubbed against his and sent pleasant tingles up to his core. Controlling the charge that was very much firing up again, he told the others some of what Onslaught had said.   


Not that Scrapper could remember great details.“Onslaught was talking about Cybertron’s future leadership, and he said something about the Alpha caste, but I’m afraid,” he confessed, “that my mind was – elsewhere.”   


Bonecrusher grinned and Mixmaster chortled. Hook came to the rescue. “Ah well, that’s the obvious choice, isn’t it?” he said, pouring more high grade. “The Decepticons have failed, Rodimus is losing support, the Quintessons aren’t welcome – who else is left but the original true Cybernetic creations?”   


“Alphas are nearly all destroyed or fled of course,” he went on. “Or so we were led to believe…” he raised his glass, “but who knows how many really survived? There’s a few right here on Delta.”

“I’ll d-d-drink to that!” Mixmaster did not look as if he needed an excuse. Hook gave Scrapper an affectionate peck on the cheek. “I’d say you heard everything we need to know, and have given us a very thorough run-down...”   


The crane’s lips lingered, warm, soft – and excruciatingly sexy. Scrapper glowed all over, thoroughly turned on – but also fascinated by Hook’s knowledge. He’d had no idea about the Alphas on Delta. Oh how he looked forward to finding out so _much more_ about Hook.   


 

Hook, meanwhile, had found himself acutely aware of everything _Scrapper_ did: the eloquent way in which he picked up his glass and sipped, or took morsels from each part of his plate, savoring them discerningly. The articulate manner in which that he put things and explained them, with genuine need for his team to understand.   


Scrapper had always been democratic. It was perhaps what set him apart from other gestalt leaders. But Hook had never seen it highlighted so acutely, or appreciated this quality quite so much.   


And all the while the loader’s thigh vibrated warmly against his, and Hook grew hotter inside, as his thoughts returned invariably to _why they had come out here in the first place_ – or more, _what they were going to do soon_. With an effort, he suppressed his desires, excited by this and the anticipation - even more by in the knowledge that Scrapper did the same.   


As they drew towards the end of their meal, they talked less as a foursome. Bonecrusher appeared quite engrossed with Mixmaster, and the mixer not unhappy about this at all –a relief, seeing as how the mixer’s earlier anguish at not being the carrier were still at the back of Hook’s thoughts.   


Eventually, it was just Hook and Scrapper again; and it was once more as though a cocoon was around them, the hum and bustle of the restaurant happening as though in a different dimension. Finishing the last mouthful, Hook felt again the closeness he had felt during the special ‘moment’ that now seemed light years earlier.   


His hand again found the loader’s. “Scrapper,” he began, “I just wanted to say…”   


But Scrapper squeezed his hand, tightly. “No,” he said. “I need to say something. _I’m_ sorry. I acted – insensitively. I don’t want to be away from you again.”   


He looked at Hook, piercing crimson optics in a beautiful pale face, and Hook’s spark melted. Such beauty, such great strength! Yet that vulnerability that had touched him was there again, the lost look of one always in control now struggling with this whole new realm.   


Hook surged with protective pride. He knew he could provide the strength Scrapper needed in the cycles to come.   


This must have transmitted across the gestalt, as did a wave of appreciation that came back from Scrapper as their bodies seemed to melted together, their energy fields a thrummingmass of appreciation and desire. Hook’s charge soared suddenly and without warning, sparks dancing lightly as energy cascaded over Scrapper. 

“I want you…” Scrapper ‘s head was on his shoulder, his other hand on Hook’s chest as he answered with a flare of his own.   


And that was all it took. Hook could not help himself. The next moment, the table was shoved backwards as kissed Scrapper deeply - passionately - and not caring where they were, or that a very definite lull took place in the general restaurant conversation.   


For it was a wonderful kiss; rich and filled with promise of what was to come. Scrapper squirmed, his energy field dancing. Hook explored him, loving the feel of Scrapper’s enthusiasm, his touch, the enveloping warmth and lust that blanketed them both.   


The kiss intensified, as did the noises they both made. Their glossae entwined hungrily as heat rose and the restaurant with its patrons receded to a distant memory; and it would have gone on, maybe proceeded even further - but Hook felt a presence on the other side of him, an arm on his shoulder. “Hey!” Bonecrusher said. “You’re gonna get us thrown out!”   


Hook did not – could not - disengage straight away. He loved that Scrapper was trembling, his intakes ragged, his body alive with need. “Hardly think so with Onslaught here…” he muttered.   


He paused, then kissed Scrapper again, giddy with lust and needing more so badly it hurt. “You know what the felines are like…” he murmured, pausing again to stroke his face. “They won’t care…”   


“Yeah well – they may be a bunch of sex maniacs but they’re actually pretty private about it,” Bonecrusher’s voice was firm – if a little amused sounding. “But that ain’t all. Mix has been real good about this - but when you started _that_ he went out for a rust stick. And you know how pleased you were when he gave those things up…”   


That was enough to break the spell – for both of them. Hook sat up, Scrapper beside him. “I can keep him occupied so long as he doesn’t have to see it,” Bonecrusher said, “and we can hang out with Tex. But you know how he is about it, an’ I think you need to go some place. I’ll pick up the tab here.”   


Hook gave Scrapper one last lingering kiss on the lips. He let out a huge sigh. “Bonecrusher’s right,” he murmured. “If I can’t take you somewhere more private, I can’t be answerable for the consequences.”   


Scrapper laughed, but his face was filled with the same barely controllable desire. Then he straightened himself, seeming much more able to regain composure than Hook. _That is what I mistook for disinterest earlier_ , Hook thought. _I must remember his status and help him to maintain it._   


Impressed, and filled again with protective prowess, Hook pushed the table forward. He got up.   


“My love…?” Hook extended his hand; and Scrapper readily took it, his smile as wide as the Gulf of Pavonia and as delightful as the gently lapping waters within.

Later, Scrapper could only vaguely remember leaving the restaurant. He was in a daze, giddy with longing and love and Hook and _Primus knew what else,_ as the _maitre d’hotel_ handed them their weapons and accessories. Though he did recall that the _maitre_ smiled almost as sycophantically as he had at Onslaught…   


“Excellent having you Cybertronians here,” he beamed, apparently unaffected by the little display a few moments ago. “Do please come again, DO!”   


There were other snippets; Mixmaster returning, pausing to say he was happy for them really, and not to worry; First Aid reappearing with congratulations, offering any help if they needed it; Scrapper feeling unthreatened this time and grateful – and less concerned than he should have been about that statement.  

But most of all, Scrapper remembered going to put his mask on. “No…” Hook looked into his optics.“Leave it off- I want to look at you…”   


He touched Scrapper’s face, and Scrapper wanted him so badly it was painful – and then they were nearly kissing all over again, right there in front of the smiling _maitre._   


But then Hook’s arm was around him, and his around Hook, and they were walking slowly, holding each other close as they went out into the balmy Delta Pavonian night.  


A haze lay in the air, as was common in these equatorial regions. The bridge bustled with pedestrians and pleasant aromas hung in the moist air, the scent of many different species and the catering for numerous diverse tastes.   


They mingled with the oily warmth of Hook’s shoulder against Scrapper’s head, as they walked, wrapped about each other with hands clasped. Scrapper knew Hook brimmed as much as he did with the need to go _somewhere_ , and soon - but that they both were savouring this state of togetherness, of anticipation in the somehow erotic appeal of the setting.   


But Hook’s intakes labored more and more heavily, rasping in time with Scrapper’s own. The lights became a colorful blur in the distance. Now Scrapper did need to know where they were going - because he didn’t think he could wait too long…   


Their steps slowed; and then need overcame the loader. As they reached the entrance to the bridge he halted, pulling Hook into another passionate kiss, hauling him back against one of the wooden posts, wanting him madly, feeling Hook’s lust explode and energy sweep from the crane. Scrapper shivered as he flared back, his field enveloping Hook with new intensity.

“Need to…” Scrapper whispered. “Want to…”   


Sparks erupted as they kissed, deeply and urgently. Metal squealed as their bodies rubbed together. Scrapper was aware this time of tut-tutting, of a few snickers and the dulcit tone of a feline female. “…now that’s what I call desperation,” she purred softly.   


Scrapper pulled back from the kiss. He trembled, his intakes heaving as much as Hook’s. “Hook,” he struggled for control. “We’re building their palace you know – we really shouldn’t – here. Is there somewhere we can go? Quickly…”   


“Yes …” Hook’s voice was a staticky hiss. “Follow me.”   


A few moons back, Hook had become too intimately acquainted with yet another patient - a femme this time, one of the deposed Alpha caste who had settled here during the war.   


In fact, it was her he had been thinking of at dinner. Now he was thinking of her again; not the rather interesting time they had had on the balcony of her penthouse apartment, but rather her now very useful penchant for “outdoor settings.”   


“We must go to the estuary island one time,” she’d said in her cultured Towers lilt. “There’s a path that leads around it and the perfect spot just by the base of the bridge pylons. Water’s beautiful there…”   


And Hook had not seen her again, nor - of course - did he intend to; not now. But thank merciful Primus for her advice - for the crane couldn’t last much longer. Never had he wanted someone so much; never had his interface relays burned so desperately or his spike and connectors strained so hard to be free. He was sure his codpiece must be dented inside from the force with which his swollen spike was pushing.   


Hastily, he led Scrapper back on to the main concourse and down the small flight of inconspicuous steps that led to the base of the pylons. Scrapper never asked where they were going. He simply followed Hook behind the pylons, intaking in excited gasps.   


The femme was right – this was perfect. Although there was nobody on the main path, it was hidden from view. Small waves lapped near their pedes. As Hook pushed Scrapper against the concrete pillar, he remembered that Mixmaster had done the conglomerate for the pylons; a replacement for the crumbling wooden structure of before, and that he himself had done some of the lifting. That seemed somehow – fitting.   


Scrapper whimpered as Hook kissed him, and Hook let go now, mercifully, allowingenergy to flow over Scrapper as he channeled more of it inwards to his spike. Bonecrusher’s words about ‘preparing the replication chamber’ echoed in his head, and Hook surged with excitement. His spike slid to press against Scrapper’s middle, and Hook moaned at how good that felt, pushing against Scrapper, feeling the loader’s own length slide out and throb against his.   


As Hook kept kissing him, Scrapper opened his legs and stood on the edge of his pedes to strain against him. Hook’s hands roved feverishly, kneading the smooth metal of Scrapper’s quivering aft, then moving over his hips, his thighs - then finding Scrapper’s open valve.   


Hook paused, fingering the rim. Fluid gushed out, and Hook moaned his appreciation, plunging his fingers in as Scrapper moaned and shuddered also.   


Oh yes, Scrapper felt beautiful. Hook briefly considered going down on him, sucking his spike on the way and then putting his tongue in that well lubricated, ready cavern.But his aching, pressurized spike was pulsating with need, and that would take too long. Instead Hook pulled back, running his hands down the purple front, loving how Scrapper heaved and cried out as warmth radiated from his chest.   


Hook’s fingers trailed down again, down, his fingers this time ghosting over Scrapper’s spike. Scrapper moaned, loudly, throwing his head back. When Hook’s fingers went near his valve again, he grasped his spike massaged it in a way that caused Hook to surge hard again and his fingers to urgently seek out the valve.   


Scrapper’s valve clenched around his fingers as Hook’s spike became a quivering mass of hard steel. Another surge and his intakes hitched as fluid trickled out. _Oh Primus_ , Hook muttered. There was so much fluid in his reservoir - if he didn’t get inside Scrapper now there was going to be a mighty mess on his lover’s chest.   


Hook paused no longer than to spread the valve with his fingers, enjoying the noise Scrapper made. Then he grasped his spike. It pulsated madly as he lined it up and slid in, his own moans mingling with Scrapper’s as the universe became a blissful haze of pure pleasure. 

“Wrap around me…” he rasped, grabbling Scrapper’s aft and pulling him close. “…keep the focus on your valve.”   


 

“Hook…” Scrapper vaguely heard his own voice, a desperate whimper amid the seething sounds of hot grinding metal and hissing intakes, as an almost stupefying wave of pleasure went through him at Hook’s spike in his valve. He immediately did what Hook asked; he had never wanted to be filled so thoroughly, so deeply in his life.   


Seizing Hook’s shoulders he let Hook lift him, loving the effortless way Hook did that, and digging in with his heels. Arching back, he forced his hips forward, so as to get as much of the crane’s spike as he could hold.   


“This is sensational!” Scrapper wailed, as he felt components shift inside, his replication chamber blossom open as exquisitely erotic sensations cascaded through his pelvic circuitry. “Do me Hook,” he rasped. “Do me hard, now!”

Hook had no problem with that request. As the aperture to Scrapper’s replication chamber opened against his spike, his body seemed to take on a life of its own, the urge to thrust huge, overpowering…   


Grunting, he forced Scrapper’s back against the pillar; and then he let go. Clunks and clangs sounded in the night air as he drove in hard, plunging in deep, ramming again and again. He rutted Scrapper relentlessly as the scent of ozone rose, noxious and intoxicating, driving him even harder as he fragged his team mate with all the fury of a gathering storm.   


Scrapper’s fingers dug into his shoulders, crushing in their urgency. With each thrust, fluid bathed Hook’s spike, sending new sensations scintillating through his circuits. Seized with a need to see, to relish, he held Scrapper away just enough to look down, loving the hugeness, the solidness of his appendage - his _life giving_ appendage - as it thrust in and out.

Meanwhile Scrapper’s spike stuck up hard against his middle, fluid oozing form the tip. “Hold your spike,” Hook said. “It will intensify this…” Scrapper complied, moaning loudly and letting go of one shoulder. Bracing against the pylon, he offlined his optics as his hand closed around it.   


Another surge went through Hook, the need to ram harder, to almost batter Scrapper in his lust overwhelmed him. He grunted, intensifying his efforts, feeling his long pent up charge skyrocket to reach a rapid crest. Scrapper travelled with him, noisily, bucking against him, forcing Hook in harder as he moaned his pleasure.   


The pylon shook and shuddered. If Hook didn’t finish this now there’d be _somebody_ down here for sure - but Hook was on his final thrusts. White points of light danced before his optics as he reached the brink, intense as with any cabling overload; so close, _so close…_ _   
_

“Oh yes yes, frag YES…” Hook yelled loudly as he tipped over, hearing Scrapper’s own cry of release echo through the steamy, interface scented air. Scrapper seemed to teeter, his valve opening wide - then it clamped down on Hook in a series of hard pulses, just as Scrapper’s spike erupted also, fluid shooting copiously on to Hook’s chest.   


New sensations scintillated through Hook’s spike as the chamber aperture sucked fluid like a siphon. It was magnificent! Hook squirted in time with the pulses, keeping his hips thrust forward, loving the feel of his fluids gushing into Scrapper and of Scrapper’s on him. And he loved most of all that his were bathing Scrapper’s replication chamber, making it ready for the creation he would implant in Scrapper soon.   


As the spasms of the overload passed, transforming to a series of satisfying waves, Hook’s spark was suddenly a pulsing mass of emotion. He pulled the loader to him, Scrapper’s chest a mass of radiating heat also as Scrapper clung to him. “I love you, “Scrapper murmured. “I love you so much, so much…”   


They clung like that, holding each other, Hook’s lips mouthing Scrapper’s helm as the last vestiges of overload settled, leaving a satiated fiery warmth that swept Hook’s body and left a tender loveliness in his spark. “I love you too Scrap,” he murmured; and then tears were leaking from his optics, mingling with Scrapper’s as they held each other again.   


Scrapper would always have cried at those words – they were all that the Constructicon leader had ever wanted to hear. He clung to Hook as the crane gently lowered his legs and slid out, leaving a warm glow in Scrapper’s pelvis that swept up his body and into his spark. Hook brushed Scrapper’s cheek with his fingers, his optics a deep crimson and fluid.   


“That was just the first part,” he said. “There’s plenty more to come, and it _won’t_ fail this time.”

Scrapper felt weak. He wanted Hook all ways, every conceivable thing until he was implanted – but for now, he just wanted to go home; to lie with the crane, and love him, and experience him fully.   


“Let’s go and recuperate,” he said.“Before we need to do that again.”   


For he was sure that urge would not be far away. No - not far away at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their passionate encounter at the bridge, everything looks rosy - until Hook and Scrapper get disturbed on the train home, and inevitably clash again. *Warnings* this chapter for P&P sex, and sexual frustration.

Hook and Scrapper arrived at the small Pavonia City Station just as a soft pattering on the tin roof signaled the start of tonight’s shower of light warm rain.

Most residents of Pavonia lived on the shores and islands that surrounded the planet’s capital, but a few lived in the neighbouring hills. A small railway wound its way up to one small station high above the city. The new Constructicon base lay in a valley not far from there.

Still in the throws of afterglow, Scrapper felt pleasantly content as they sat down on one of the platform benches. _We’re going back to our nest,_ he thought happily. Leaning against Hook, he put his head on the crane’s shoulder.

Hook put an arm around him, pulling him closer, his intakes soft on Scrapper’s neck. “Holding up?” he murmured. 

“Mmmm…” From against Hook’s shoulder, Scrapper could see the lights of Pavonia scintillating hazily through the humid air beyond the station. The sight filled him with warm, happy tingles. His energy field pulsed steadily in satiation and afterglow.

His hand wandered, finding Hook’s. “Are _you_ all right now?” he asked his lover, still needing a curious reassurance. Old habits died hard, it seemed.

“More than all right…” Hook nuzzled at his helm.

“No more regrets about…”

“No.” Hook said it in a way that told Scrapper that the events in the restaurant should be put firmly behind them.

_No – I don’t want go back to that either_ , Scrapper thought. They had moved on to much better realms. Or so he believed…

 

Hook certainly didn’t want to revisit earlier events. Now that Scrapper had left no doubt about his feelings, the crane swelled with creatorly pride and confidence. Better still, Hook was almost certain that the last episode had set the replication sequence in motion.

For there had been no warnings or recommendations to abort after the frenetic encounter beneath the bridge – and even with only one part of the sequence in progress, there would have been some indication of any problem?

Hook kissed Scrapper’s helm, drawing him close, pushing away the doubts which nagged uncomfortably, small irritants in the depths of his mind. Scrapper’s chamber was surely – right now - being filled with nanite-charged, incubation nurturing fluids?  

_Yes –_ Hook thought determinedly. The subtle shifting of coding in the loader’s body would have begun. Without Scrapper even realizing, components would be aligning, databanks emptying and making way for the new programming that would fill them soon - that of Scrapper’s creation.

And it would be Hook’s co-programming that they prepared for! Triumphant in this knowledge amongst the multi-specied Pavonians bustling around them, the crane held his lover close. He, Hook, part of the most powerful gestalt in the quadrant – was soon to be part of its finest ever production.

Not now wanting to delay the next stage of their procreative urges, Hook’s gaze followed the line of the platform in the direction of the hills. There was no sign of the train. Beyond the station lights, a blackness loomed, indicative of the lack of population outside the city limits.

Hook fought down his impatience. Such a backward place was this! His thoughts strayed to the future – and to what Onslaught had told Scrapper. Was there really to be an Alpha challenge on Cybertron? _And I have Alpha programming within me, he_ thought. _Even though I am a factory mech and nobody has ever understood how it got there …_

Even without that, it was clear. They must raise their creation not on this lonely world in the far flung reaches of nowhere – but a place where – well – at least you could get home when you needed to! There was no doubt in Hook’s mind. Had he not thought this earlier, even before they had embarked on their 'outing' tonight? His offspring must be raised on Cybertron - and with Decepticon ideals.

There was a rumbling noise in the distance. The train tracks began to hiss. The passengers began to get up, making their way to the edge of the platform. Scrapper stirred – apparently rejuvenated by the impending arrival. He sat up. “C’mon…” his optics sparkled. He was already on his feet as the train chugged in. 

An interesting mix of modern fusion propulsion combined with a dated locomotive engine, the train reminded Hook absurdly of Astrotrain in his antiquated Earth form - only turned kindly and offering services to the masses. He followed Scrapper, uncomfortable amidst the throng as they dispersed to whatever carriage best suited their dimensions and tastes.  

_Definitely_ this was inferior to what his offspring should get accustomed to…

 

“Over there…”   Scrapper was indicating to a section where the carriages were of old style, comprised of separate compartments. His hand twitched hotly in Hook’s. The crane’s thoughts returned forcefully to _what they were going to do next_. It occurred to him that the cabling stage could be considerably less conspicuous what they had done at the bridge – and that there may be some virtues in this ancient contraption after all, if they could sit by themselves… _  
_

_Though we must be careful in this next phase_ he thought. _Not do it too fast or the programming will mismatch again…_ and that thought terrified him.

As they reached the steps to the carriage Scrapper paused, a worried look coming over him. “Hook I feel - _different…”_   he said. “Really – _weird,_ actually…” 

Hook paled. Alarm rushed through his systems. Was he wrong? Had something misfired after all? Trying not to give any indication of the sudden panic that threatened to engulf him, Hook hustled Scrapper up the steps and along the narrow corridor.

Finding an empty compartment he bundled Scrapper in, closing the door behind him.  “What do you mean, you feel _different?_ ”  He clutched Scrapper’s hand as they sat down on the tattered seats.

The rain hammered on the roof with sudden abruptness, streaking down the pane. Scrapper didn’t answer. He stared out of the window, seemingly transfixed by the misty blur of lights and activity that was now the station.

“Scrapper..?” Hook’s voice was a strangled wail.

 

Scrapper was not, in fact, alarmed – just a little confused. He needed a few astroseconds to collect his thoughts. The warm glow that was building in his pelvis felt wonderful – even if it _was_ different.

But even though he sensed nothing wrong, Hook was clearly consumed with worry – and in their new state of closeness, Scrapper’s spark ached.  He turned back. “Here - feel this…” Clutching the crane’s hand, he dragged it across to settle on his abdominal armour.

Hook frowned at first – and for a moment Scrapper was afraid that his own complacency was misplaced.  But then, the crane’s face lit up. “That’s fantastic!”  he proclaimed. “Oh Scrapper – I so hoped this would be the case!”

Scrapper felt his spark burst into hot pulses of happiness and relief - though he was still confused. “Er - _what_ would be the case..?”  he asked.

Hook was sliding down his front, bringing his face to rest on the newly growing warmth. “That things are really happening in there!” he reported happily. Sitting up, he faced Scrapper, taking both his hands and clutching them tightly.

“Your systems have recognized an impending replication sequence, and are preparing your chamber accordingly!”

Overwhelmed with affection and a deep joy he had rarely if ever felt. Scrapper looked away _.  So it was actually happening!_  

Hook squeezed his hands and Scrapper looked back at him, almost melting at the adoration reflected in the crimson optics. “It still does not mean that the next stage – where we will implant each other with data that will comprise our creation – will be a success. But the chances are greatly enhanced!”

_Implant each other with data_. The words were enough to reboot Scrapper’s interface systems into an instant almost maniacal surge of desire. He wanted to flood Hook with procreative data – be engulfed himself – immediately. His hardline interface port began to ache – fiercely – as he ran a hand feverishly down Hook’s chest. “Let’s not wait…” he murmured.

The crane shuddered, almost crushing his other hand. There was no doubt – none at all – that Hook felt exactly the same.

A whistle sounded from outside. The train began to move slowly out of the station.  Scrapper could not help it – he thrust himself at Hook, kissing him hungrily. More energy swept off the crane – but then Hook pulled back, seizing both Scrapper’s hands again. “Scrapper…” he croaked huskily, “if we do this now then we need to be careful…”

“No…” Scrapper panted. He just didn’t - couldn’t - _do_ ‘careful’ right now. He kissed Hook again, delighted that despite the crane’s caution, hands slid instantly over his plating. They left a trail of glorious fiery tingles. Scrapper’s squirmed as his components shifted, his port cover sliding open.

It was wonderful! Scrapper wanted their whole ‘family’ to know just how right this thing was with Hook. The gestalt bond sprang open. Scrapper sent all his appreciation - his complete adoration - cascading over it.

“Hook…” he rasped, “We _must_ do it now!”

 

The train left the lights behind and began to ascend, winding its way up through the narrow mountain track. The kiss deepened, rich and passionate as Hook surged with renewed need.

In the back of his mind warnings were going off – because surely he was right, and this was _not_ the best idea – but so delighted was Hook at the success of the first phase and so overwhelmed was he by Scrapper’s desire to bring their replication to fruition that he was swept along, powerless to do anything but continue.

Perhaps – he thought vaguely - the surroundings would somehow slow down the process…

But it was hard not to rush. Scrapper was so eager, so ready – and so _irresistible_. Primus he was sexy when he took the lead! He writhed in the kiss and then grabbed Hook’s hand, guiding it to his panel which – oh Primus, Hook could hardly contain himself - was open, the components throbbing in urgent readiness.

And now Hook didn’t want to wait either. His fingers fondled the end of Scrapper’s connector, then found their way to the open port. Scrapper’s intakes became thick and shallow mingling with the hissing of his own. ‘I want you now…” Scrapper rasped, squirming.

_No, we must not rush –_ Somehow, Hook managed to break the kiss, fiercely resisting the urge to let his own panel spring open, release the connector that now pressed agonizingly against the cover. Instead, he kissed Scrapper again more sensuously, stroking his chest plates. “Patience…” he panted.

 

But Scrapper was a mech transformed; gone was the once shy, modest Constructicon leader. He scrambled across, straddling Hook’s lap, and Hook was forced back against the seat by the force of the kiss that followed. Their chests and panels touched, sparks erupting between them in a crackle of ozone scented blue. Scrapper’s connector  slipped on to his thigh, a white hot headed snake that sent rivers of lust reeling through him. Hook's hands clamped on Scrapper's aft and he kissed him back, unable to resist the energy that tore through his core.

Gripping Hook's shoulders, Scrapper pressed closer, his mouth open against Hook’s, his glossa everywhere. Hook felt Scrapper reach down, felt Scrapper's connector against his port, twitching, seeking. He whimpered - it was as though every part of the loader wanted to be inside Hook. And so much did Hook want   that! His port opened to maximum receptivity as his panel flew open and hos own connector came loose, sparking wildly, straining for Scrapper’s port. _I must keep control._   Hook wailed inwardly – not nobody heard.

“Connect us!” Scrapper’s voice was throaty and hoarse, unbelievably sexy – and Hook knew he could not hold back. And he _would not_ have - had it not been for the fact that -just then - there was a noise outside the door.  

“Ah – this will do us!”  said a clicky, Insectoid tone.

It was enough to distract Hook. He broke from the kiss, and tried to push Scrapper off his lap. “No – they’ll see us and go…” Scrapper tried to protest; but Hook was back in control – and adamant things were staying that way. Primus preserve them, that they had just risked everything…

Closing his panel, he wrestled the agony of frustration that tore through his systems, and shoved Scrapper off. Then he settled back, hastily stowing components. // Sort yourself out!// he hissed on comm, ignoring the distraught look on his team mate’s face.

Three Insecticons were pushing their way into the carriage. //Hook – we can’t just stop like this…?//  Scrapper begged, his intakes coming in sharp bursts.. //Say something to make them go!//

But the three conversed in a series of clicks and foreign utterances as they stowed boxes and packages in the luggage rack. Clearly, they were not going anywhere.

//No …// Despite Scrapper’s distress, Hook was relieved at the intrusion. He avoided Scrapper’s gaze, nodding curtly at each of the trio before they settled into the seats opposite. All three simultaneously brought out newspapers which they opened and proceeded to study. 

//That wasn’t going to go right anyway,//  Hook muttered.

 

What was _not going to go right?_ How could Hook say that when it had been so – wonderful...?  When he had – apparently – so enjoyed Scrapper taking the lead?

Scrapper stared at the back covers of the three newspapers. Even the Insecticons’ antennae were not visible. They could easily have kept doing it!   _  
_

But apparently, that would have been _a mistake._ And if Hook said so, well then of course it was, wasn’t it? Who was he, Scrapper, a mere engineer, to argue against the wealth of medical knowledge that had no doubt driven his would be co-creator to such a decision?

As the train rattled along and rain again streaked the panes, the lust that had coursed through Scrapper like an unstoppable tide became a sad trickle, ebbing by the astrosecond. Even the warmth in his pelvis had diinished to a dull glow. Hook sat beside him, just staring straight ahead.  Scrapper could hardly contain his disappointment.

The moments ticked by. The newspapers rustled. Old doubts began to seep in. Maybe, Scrapper conceded miserably, this whole exercise was just another scientific process, an ‘experiment’ aimed at achieving an end?  Because if that was the case, then all that had seemed so passionate may not be what it seemed at all. And above all, Scrapper had to admit it: _Hook_ may not have changed at all.

No - maybe it was not so ‘wonderful’ to Hook - or not with Scrapper. Perhaps it only could be with - others. After all, that exchange with First Aid earlier had been tender, somehow…

Tears pricked Scrapper's optics. He felt the gestalt bond shift, and was conscious of a muted stirring, a hazy cloud of affectionate concern that floated somewhere out of perception. _The others._ Right then, he was grateful for their existence.

Hook shifted awkwardly, his discomfort obvious. “Look - I know you’re upset – but we need to do that in better surroundings!” he snapped. 

_Do. That. Better surroundings…_ Everything so - clinical!

Scrapper could not even bring himself to answer. Folding his arms, he pouted at the newspapers. Maybe he had been right from the start. His leadership was too important to suffer at the whims of his team-mate. He should call the whole thing off. Surely after only _phase one_ it was not too late for that?

  
   
Turning to the window, Hook rolled his optics. Why did this whole thing have to be so _difficult?_ He should have explained things better to Scrapper – granted – and then not let what just happened happen in this situation – but hell, couldn’t Scrapper at least have _assisted_   him a little, there?

And now, Scrapper was going to do a ‘no talk’ thing. Hook was quite good at that himself – but he couldn’t abide somebody else doing it – especially Scrapper!

Annoyed, the crane cracked his knuckles one by one – something he tended to do when irritated or frustrated – and right now, he was both. He frowned, studying the back pages of the newspapers. “Galvatronian threat at lowest in living memory,” one headline said. “Cybertron to host interplanetary sector talks.”

Rodimus Prime and other Autobot dignitaries beamed from beneath the text, a gallery of other attendee planetary representatives dotting the page. It did nothing to improve his mood.

Hook grimaced. His mind went back to the restaurant, and he wondered vaguely if _the great Onslaught_ would attend the talks, representing Delta Pavonus. He felt a stab of anger – no matter what Bonecusher had said or what had transpired later, the Combaticon commander had still been 'all over' Scrapper at one point. As if that wasn't already reason to be annoyed!

But returning to the paper,  he noticed that nobody from Delta Pavonus was featured at all.

Well – was that really a surprise? Was it not another reason for not rushing this? The need to coincide the final stages of the process with their plans to relocate to depart this backwater? Why couldn’t Scrapper accept his judgment – just for once.

“You know – before we go further, we really need to be somewhere other than this miserable planet anyway, Scrapper!” he snapped.

 

Opposite, the newspapers rustled. Scrapper’s passion evaporated. _Now_ what was Hook on about? Scrapper’s spark filled with dismay.

He was right – Hook was his usual, impossible self; straight from seething passion to cold anger about Primus knew what in a few astroseconds. He’d probably _start_ about Onslaught in a minute - or some other equally ridiculous subject. Well, Scrapper would have a few things to say if he did…

Besides, Scrapper _liked_   Delta Pavonus! His resentment burned deeper. Hook had no right to lay down the law like that! Delta was friendly, safe – definitely ideal for raising a creation. He forgot, for a moment, that he’d just decided not to have one. They had made their home here - and Scrapper had no intention of departing.

“And what’s wrong with Delta Pavonus?” he straightened in his seat.

“What’s right with it?” Hook snapped.

“Actually – I like the place,” he said. “Pavonia reminds me of Iacon!”

He turned away, noting that the rain was still coming down, streaking the windows. And now why had he gone and said that? It clearly was impossible for he and Hook to break form their old patterns. This whole thing was not going to work at all.

 

The crane seethed. Scrapper did have to go and raise that right now, didn’t he? Of course, he might have known that any consideration of Cybertron at all automatically entailed a consideration of the ‘great capital.’

Which was not what Hook meant by a ‘return to Cybertron’ – and Scrapper knew it. How many times had he talked about how Iacon was all right if you’d grown up in a well to do suburb with creators and good schooling? How many times had he angrily lamented how   different it was if you were a factory made mech - even one with a medical training.  

“Actually,” he said icily, “I was thinking more of Kaon. It is the ancestral seat of the Decepticons after all. And we are still two of those, aren’t we? Or have we forgotten who we are?”

This time all the newspapers rustled.

 

Scrapper bristled _. Kaon?_ In Megatron’s day the northern city had been problematic. Now, by all accounts, it was far worse. “That’s hardly the right place to raise a creation!” he hissed.  //Besides which…// he added on comm, //I _don’t think we should be talking about this out loud!//_

Primus knew, Insecticons were contrary enough in their allegiances. Who knew what the three opposite had taken in from this exchange.

//And anyway -// he went on when Hook scowled coldly. //I don’t want to go back to Cybertron at all, I want to stay here, Hook! It’s not all up to you – _if_ we ever get this creation thing off the ground!//

“Yeah. Well it looks like we might not doesn’t it!” Hook shot back.

And even though only moments before he had been having those very thoughts himself, Scrapper felt his circuits turn to ice. Sudden nausea threatened to engulf him. He had been right. Hook hadn’t changed - and neither had their relationship. How could they ever raise a creation when they couldn’t even agree on when to commence the process and where to live; had to resort to pathetic jibes when one of them didn’t get his way?

Scrapper got up. He sould not stay here! “It‘s just as well,” He said coldly, not caring that the newspapers had now all lowered, or that antennae twitched as red compound optics regarded them with interest. “You wouldn’t be able to keep a creation safe, anyway. You think we’ll get left alone by Galvatron in Kaon? If that’s your idea of safety, then forget it!”

He flounced from the carriage, ignoring the stares. Yanking the door open, he strode out into the rattling, swaying corridor. The door banged behind him. And it was only when outside that he allowed the tears of desperate disappointment to burst from his aching spark.

 

_I’m not going after him!_   Hook receded into his seat, folding his arms and scowling.

The Insecticons were still staring. The creature nearest the aisle- a portly type with thick antennae - cleared his throat with a series of clicks. “You Cybertronians always were emotional creatures,” he ventured.

“I’m inclined to agree with your mate,” the middle one said.  He had a soft, whispery voice - like wings brushing sheet metal. “Never did like Kaon myself…and now it’s full of Autobot prisons and work camps - not how it was at all in Megatron’s day.”

“Certainly unsuitable for offspring. Definitely not worth arguing over …” the third - and smallest - agreed. The others murmured their concurrence.

It took a few moments for Hook to register his surprise – and then his anger. The audacity of it! As if this were any of their business. “Oh you would know, wouldn’t you?” he burst out. “You’d be real experts on co-creation!”

“As a matter of fact we are, rather," the portly one smiled. “As custodian of over ten thousand potential clone hatchlings, we rather have to be.”

Hook’s mouth fell open. His processor reeled – it was too much, right at this moment, this _already difficult moment_ , to take in the implications of this. _Ten thousand Insecticons in the making?_ “What…” he began. “I mean where … _how?_

The creature in the middle was laughing - a feathery sound. “Why I rather think you have alarmed our companion, Crackshell” he said. “We are not your enemies, Constructicon. Our hives will later prove of great assistance in…in…”

“In what is to come,” the portly one said, with a glance at his companion. “But don’t concern yourself - Commander Onslaught as everything under control. Your task, for now, is to look after your mate and stay safely on Delta Pavonus. Now, don’t you think you’d better go and get him back?”

“Don’t worry – he will!” said the smaller one beside the window. The newspapers were raised again, the conversation apparently at an end.

Any further outrage Hook might have felt at this final comment paled with the sickening sensation that swept through him. _Onslaught?_ _What in the universe is he up to?_   _He’s taking on Rodimus and Galvatron with an army of -_ Insecticons…?

Alarm shot through Hook. _Onslaught’s doing that? What if Scrapper goes back to him now, after this? What if he’s the co-creator – no, he can’t override my phase one input. But what if he can?_ Sudden visions of his beloved team mate among hoards of Insecticons suddenly terrified Hook to his core.

_What if somewhere – somehow – Onslaught got on this train?_

Hook stood up. There was not a moment to lose! He would indeed go and get Scrapper back – and he didn’t need three pesky bugs to tell him to do it!

He cleared his throat. “I thank you for the information,” he said curtly to the three newspapers. “I have decided to act on it!”

The small one near the window popped his head out.  “You’re welcome!” he said cheerfully.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a twist there - but H and S do manage to rekindle their efforts in next chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more words, but then Scrapper has an epiphany and he and Hook get it together again - with more success!
> 
> *Warning* Fluff, angst and some intense replication/reproduction P&P sex in this chapter, and oral sex.

As he charged along the rattling corridors, Hook‘s panic grew. Glances into compartments showed them filled with many beings, but not even any Cybertronians – let alone a Constructicon. 

He forged on, charging through a narrow passage that ran between rows of swaying seats. He scanned every one, ignoring the indignant glances, the openly hostile stares. Still no Scrapper. 

Were it not for the situation, an odd satisfaction may well have been creeping in – because that smart aft Rodimus besieged by squadrons of bugs was a most appealing notion. But if what the three has said was right, then that would somehow mean Onslaught was in control, his superiority a viable possibility – and Hook was darned if he was ever going to admit _that._  

No – and it was a silly idea anyway. Look at all the trouble Megatron had had with the Insecticons on Earth? Intriguing as they were, you couldn’t trust the fraggers as far as you could throw them. He had to get Scrapper. Had to warn him. Had to tell him that… 

That what? Well – that Onslaught was dangerous for a start. But also that - he supposed - they would stay on Delta Pavonus; because of the maniac was off fighting wars then Delta would be safe for them to… 

Yes, to raise their creation. Because they _were_ going to have that; weren’t they? Of course they were! Hook might have said what he said but – well – any fool could have told you that was only in the heat of the moment. It was obvious! 

If only he could just find his mate… 

Hook passed through another two equally Scrapper-less carriages; then reached the restaurant car. It was empty but for one solitary attendant, who was cleaning glasses behind the bar. He was - Hook noted with relief - a Cybertronian neutral. “Did you see a green Construction mech come through here?” he asked. 

“Yeah…guy went through that way a short while ago. But…” the attendant looked Hook up and down. “Hey – why don’t you join me in a high grade? Don’t get many of our types on this rattlebox. On the house?” 

“I’ll pass…” Hook ignored the a bottle of pink liquid – obviously a fine choice – and the rueful look on the mech’s face; much as his ego should have usually responded most positively to such attention. Throwing open the door, he strode on through to the next car. 

………… 

Scrapper was not far away. He had made his way past the crowded compartments and restaurant car and through another door, until he came to where the carriages joined, a piece of floor between tall luggage racks that shook from side to side with the movements of the train. 

The rain hammered harder than ever, a cacophony of watery bullets on the metal roof. Scrapper felt the train slowing, no doubt a result of the worsening weather. He let the door close behind him and leaned against the wall, staring at the rain-streaked window as an emptiness spread slowly through his systems. 

Why did things with Hook have to be like this? The trouble was, Scrapper knew why. It was - he now conceded - something more profound than a mere jealousy over each others’ lovers. It rose up like a looming dark shadow that surrounded their existence: the never truly resolvable conflict between Scrapper, leader of the Constructicons and Hook, head of Devastator. 

Had their entire gestalt not been created with a delicate balance; had not part of the decision to have six and not five members been so as to allow for two leaders? And had not part of Hook’s job been to keep those two roles ever at slight odds, both functional – but neither ever truly superior?

 _This really was a mistake_ , Scrapper thought miserably. _We’ve never needed other mechs and ex-lovers to cause problems._  

Scrapper’s fist clenched in frustration. Why had he not seen this before? Why had Hook not seen it? No wonder they had failed. The way it was _could_ _not_ fail to produce a result exactly as it was - passionate one moment and at loggerheads the next. Surely replication was not just difficult. It was impossible. 

A tear made its way down Scrapper’s cheek. If only he’d _accepted_ the real problem after the first time, instead of allowing everything that had happened since to fill him with false hopes. His spark pulsed, dull and painful, so much worse than before. 

His pelvis ached, and he rested a hand on his abdomen – above the place where his replication chamber was so diligently preparing in readiness. He stared into the night. “I’m so sorry” he muttered to the being that would never come to be. 

Just then, there was a noise behind him, and Scrapper turned to see the door crash open. Through it came Hook. 

The crane’s face was a picture of anguish and worry. For a moment, Scrapper’s spark lifted in an illogical optimism. If Hook could maybe just – apologise – again… 

But Scrapper was disappointed. Hook caught his arm. “Scrapper!” he exclaimed urgently. “You have to stay close to me. It’s Onslaught – he’s dangerous. He’s – he’s - _in league with the Insecticons!”_  

………. 

Scrapper simply stared at him – seconds before anger swept through. The concoction of some story to divert attention from the subject of a conflict! Oh yes - was this not a typical Hook tactic? Perhaps it also was part of the ‘balance’ – but whatever the case, it had always been darned annoying. For a moment, he considered just leaving - but there was only one carriage after this and it was first class - doubtless full of felines. Hook would be sure to follow…

Two angry construction mechs charging through those elegant surroundings? Being thrown off the train would hardly help their situation. Nevertheless, Scrapper shook off Hook’s hand. “Is that all you have to say?” he demanded furiously of his team mate. 

“Isn’t it enough? We need to be safe somewhere, Scrapper. We have to – do something about it, Scrapper. And I’m sure you must realize…” he drew himself up dramatically. “We can no longer be friends with the Combaticons!” 

Incredible. Apart from the utter ridiculousness of this, Hook was talking as though everything was just as it had been earlier! “Why do we have to be ‘safe?’ It’s not as though we’re making a creation or something,” Scrapper said bitterly. 

“Of course we are! I just -” Hook turned away. Then back again. “I didn’t really mean that what I said. You know that, Scrapper!” 

Against his wishes, Scrapper’s spark warmed, a traitor to his inner resolve. But he was incensed afresh. “Oh I do, do I?” he snapped. 

“Scrapper – I think…” 

“No! I’ll tell you what _I_ think, Hook.” Scrapper shouted. “And you think about it, because this is now it always is, isn’t it? You’re an aft. Then, you change your tune – and hey presto, you cook up some _pit_ with which to exonerate yourself. I wouldn’t have minded you coming after me and being _sorry_ , but no - you have to go make up some story…” 

“It is not _some story!”_ Hook yelled – “I heard it with my own audios! Scrapper - listen…” he made to move closer again. 

“No!” Scrapper backed off. He pointed a finger at Hook. “You’re just trying to make things go your way without having to address what we were arguing about. And it’s despicable, Hook – using Onslaught like that. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life!” 

“I knew it!” Hook exploded. “I knew you’d take his side!” He swung around, hands in the air, his crane hook clanking loudly against his chassis. 

“Everything all right here?” The door had opened a crack, and the intrigued face of the attendant had appeared. “We’re fine!” Hook snapped. 

“Hey – all right!” The mech looked mildly amused. The door closed. 

“Look - I’m not taking anyone’s side I’m just trying to be rational!” Scrapper lowered his voice. He felt suddenly emotional again (darn it, why did that have to happen right now?) “And I’m also trying to come to terms with the fact that one moment we’re madly in love and about to have a creation and the next it’s all off…and that there’s probably nothing we can do about it!” he blurted out. 

Hook sighed. “Look - I already said it wasn’t _off_. But you can’t expect me to just stand placidly by while you defend that - that _\- maniac!”_

Scrapper offlined his optics. He thought hard, every impulse telling him to explode in Onslaught's defence again, but resisting; so much wanting things to be different this time. _What was the best way to tell Hook about what he had just realized?_ That this was to do with their own inner workings – and not with anybody else. Because surely Hook _could_ understand that - maybe he, alone, could make a few adjustments, could even do something about it?

But when he onlined his optics again, the crane still looked furious. “And now, you don’t want it anyway, do you!” he snapped. “Or not with me. Far from being worried about the mech, you’re seeing _the great Combaticon commander_ is some kind of savior! I have no doubt…” 

 _“This has nothing to do with Onslaught!”_ Scrapper yelled, sick of this subject, certain every passenger in the train by now was too. 

They glared at each other, yet Scrapper’s former thoughts returned. _We may be programmed for conflict. But have not the Constructicons and Devastator still co-existed all this time? Maybe we can work this out…_  

And despite the hostility, there again in the mech before him was the thing Scrapper had seen before – an unmistakable need, a desperate vulnerability. He _does_ want this, Scrapper thought - knew. And he _didn’t_ mean to say what he said. It _is_ this other thing… 

Despite the hopelessness this raised again in Scrapper’s mind, something stood out - a tactic that in fact had worked in the past _. Assert yourself as Constructicon leader. But let Hook’s views count too – that way it can be a joint effort. And he won’t feel Devastator has to dominate._  

Scrapper took a deep intake. “This business about the Insecticons?” he said quietly. “Those three in the carriage – they told you about this - alliance?” 

“Yes!” And then Hook was away, talking fast, blurting out what the three had said.

“…and they said they’ve got ten thousand clones!” he concluded dramatically. “And that it’s Onslaught …” his optics flashed afresh at mention of the Combaticon leader - "who is leading the charge!" 

Scrapper thought hard again, fighting hard to separate logic from emotion; to find words that would quell the drama – and not set the crane ranting again. 

“Hook - those three who were on Earth a few decades ago - Unicorn only took their clones, not them, didn’t he? And there’s no doubt they have proliferated, is there not?” he said slowly.” Hook nodded. 

“Galvatron has half Insecticon sub commanders,” Scrapper went on cautiously. “If we are considering a break from him, then this may be - a good thing. Provided those three back there are on the right side….” 

He looked squarely at Hook. “I think _we_ should talk to Onslaught. At some future time. Then _we_ can decide if we want to be on board with any ‘schemes’.”

"But…” Hook opened his mouth. Then closed it. _Something_ had worked - for like clouds blowing away after a storm, the indignation seemed to evaporate. “All right,” he nodded slowly. “I have to admit that the Decepticon leadership question is one that requires some – evaluation. And if I can have a hand in what goes on – so that Devastator can have a place in the scheme of things…"

For a moment, he looked thoughtful. Then slowly, a crooked wry smile appeared. "But we stay here on Delta in the meantime. Deal?”

 Scrapper resisted an urge to hug him with relief. “That was never an issue!” He could have danced. 

Hook looked at him. He pursed his lips. “You know - I don’t want to argue,” he said. “We’ve done enough of that – over the years. Sort of how we’ve been really, isn’t it? But perhaps we both have to change.” 

Despite this turn of events, Scrapper did not really want his feelings to return so quickly and with such intensity – after all, there was a lot more discussion to be had on this issue! But a tide of sudden happiness swept through him – and with it, a pressing and desperate desire. 

“Me neither,” he said, melting like ice on a volcano as suddenly he found himself in the crane’s arms, and being deeply and frantically kissed – and kissing back with equal and urgent fervour. 

 

Hook was certainly not going to give whatever it was that set them off arguing again so easily to get yet another foothold. Besides, whatever had _happened_ during this latest fracas - it had made the mech he held even more exquisitely desirable than before. 

His intakes were soon deep and raspy, his armour glowing hotly as Scrapper’s already re-energized field signified the same rekindling in the loader. Frantically Hook smothered him with deep kisses, tasting his mate’s urgent arousal and then nipping hotly at neck cords as Scrapper moaned, tilting his head back. 

No - this time, Hook wasn’t going to wait – no matter what his better judgment said. Something deep within was telling him that for now things had resolved - as though some essential midway testing point had been passed; a window of opportunity - and one _not_ about to be missed. “I want you,” he whispered. “Right now…”

Trembling, Scrapper pressed close. Hook’s hands wandered as they kissed, sliding feverishly down Scrapper's frame, the thrumming metal sending shivers through to his core. His fingers found the outer seam of Scrapper’s panel. Wild sensations shot through him as it sparked at his touch. 

“I want you too, but I thought we couldn’t rush this….” Scrapper whispered. 

“All changed,” Hook hissed, kissing him some more. Feverishly, his fingers plucked at the panel. It popped open. Hook’s fingers slid in, quickly finding the loose connector, the open port. Energy surged through him. Oh but that port felt so good… Hook’s connector was aching to be pulled out and plugged in there…. 

Scrapper broke from the kiss. His voice came in short, statticy bursts. “What - here - no - along there - first class - if someone comes - _Hook_ \- can’t stop again…”

“No -" Hook agreed – mightily. He was on fire, the need to take Scrapper, to flood him with data was almost uncontrollable. Meanwhile his own port had begun to burn with need to receive Scrapper, combining with his aching connector into a frenzied agony. 

Scrapper was kissing his neck; then the loader’s mouth was against his again as hands ran over Hook’s panels in a way that made the crane’s swim and synapses fritz. _Have to… now…_

Through a haze of arousal, he saw in his periphery a large steel luggage rack. On the bottom shelf, three holdalls were neatly stacked. The top shelf was empty. Being for first class luggage, the entire rack was of a pleasantly ample size.

“Up there!” Tearing himself away, Hook shoved Scrapper towards it. 

Intakes labouring, Scrapper obliged. Hook pushed his aft, his own hissing vents mingling with Scrapper's as the loader climbed up the swaying contraption to the top. Then Hook clambered after him, weak with lust. Metal squealed as without delay, Hook slid on top of his mate. Components sparked as they brushed, their lips coming together in a deep kiss. 

Deep within his chest, Hook’s spark glowed brightly, whilst in lower regions his spike pressurized hard – having Scrapper in every way rose up in fantastic possibility, a tantalizing temptation, rich with the promise of total satiation, of unexplored possibilities and mutually wished for outcomes. 

Proudly, Hook firmly pushed all but cabling urges away, diverting every ounce of his attention to their ports and connectors. He found at last a sense of control - and with that, a welcome power. The crane nearly wept with relief. This time, the process would _not_ be jeopardized. 

Scrapper was shaking, his hands clutching randomly at Hook as his components sparked. Hook’s connector throbbed; he wanted to plug in - badly - but this time he did heed the cautions in his processor: not _too_ fast... 

“Relax and let me do it…” he whispered, loving this new found mastery as he began to slide down Scrapper, keeping his hand on the loader’s open panel. He planted kisses slowly as he went, nipping here, flicking a seam with his glossa there, relishing the noises Scrapper made, the hot wafts of ozone scented air as Scrapper squirmed with need. 

When he got to Scrapper’s open panel, Hook hesitated, taking in the sight. Relishing what he saw, he allowed his charge to build. Then he ran his forefingers around the outer seam as his lips and glossa explored the components. 

Scrapper jerked, crying out and clutching at Hook’s helm. Gently, Hook paused and took hold of Scrapper’s hands. “Try and keep still,” he whispered, looking into the needy red optics. Entwining their fingers, he gently squeezed. Venting rapidly, Scrapper made muffled sounds. He nodded.

Hook returned his attentions to the port, now open to maximum aperture. The taste was exquisite - like liquid mercury; the scent of his mate had never been more exotic. Hook let out a deep sigh of need. His glossa roved to the throbbing connector. Slowly, he mouthed at the cable; then eased it out with his denta. He let it drop, sparking on top Scrapper’s hip. 

“Need you…” Scrapper was moving again. He writhed, as though he struggling with an unseen foe. Hook moved slowly back up his twitching form, letting go of Scrapper’s hands and pausing half way. Scrapper’s optics burned as he whimpered with desire. 

“ _Shhh…”_ Hook rested a hand on Scrapper’s abdomen, remembering with a sharp thrill the changes beneath the armour. 

The mech beneath him stilled again, although he still made little noises and trembled. Slowly, Hook drew out his own connector. He savoured the feel of it, liking much that it pounded in his palm; then charge surged through him – and then he could not wait. With a deep intake, he eased it into Scrapper’s port.

He was aware that the loader arched and screamed as it went in – and was vaguely relieved that the train seemed to go across a particularly noisy phase at that very moment. For the sudden release of raw data that bombarded the connection took Hook by surprise. He heard his own cry and hardly recognized it; for it was a primeval sound, wild and filled with new need - the urgent desire to procreate.

Scrapper’s optics rolled back and he whimpered, arching up again. Hook tensed. More data spilled out, and Hook knew – he _knew_ – that it was rich in detail, infused with his strength, his intelligence, his superior coding. A blueprint of the being that was to come, it forged its way straight to Scrapper’s replication receptors. 

Swooning with relief that it _was actually happening,_ Hook offlined his own optics, moved beyond his imagining at the depth to which he  _wanted_ it to happen. Then charge gathered again and he began to move, sliding on Scrapper, thrusting rythmically in time as wave after wave of data swept into his lover. 

“Oh Hook…” he heard Scrapper whimper. “You feel – brilliant…” 

“Good…” Hook needed to see his face. He got up on his hands, moving in time with the data flow, marveling in his own power, at the beauty of Scrapper’s features, the bright crimson optics that danced so radiantly – and most of all the adoration within them. “Scrapper this is heaven,” he murmured, the relief of _finally getting it_ right almost engulfing him again. 

And the need to know what was going on inside the loader drew him like a magnet. _“Plug in to me. Must …”_ he whispered, balancing on one hand and feeling between them, until his fingers found Scrapper’s sparking connector. He plugged it into his port, going rigid again as data now assaulted _him_ , lighting a fiery trail of synapses to his core and making him cry out at the sheer ecstasy of the sensation. 

Then he was above Scrapper, and the loader’s hands were pressed on his chest, Scrapper’s lovely face alive with need before him. There was no need to take it slow. Hook threw his head back and cried out, not caring who heard or came running to investigate, letting data and energy flow, unable to restrain the now mutual barrage of information, rejoicing in Scrappers own cries. 

 

It was magnificent. It was as though Scrapper could feel every part of Hook, every node and synapse – not as part of Devastator but of his colleague, his mate, his perfect counterpart _._ He marveled at the perfection of the mechanism, the smooth working of the crane’s highly caste systems, the brilliant mind that controlled them – and most of all at that part of Hook that flowed through the connection, that now settled deep inside him. 

He opened himself to it all, not caring that he had barely ever felt so unrestrained in his life, had never felt so reliant on his mate for the control he didn’t seem to have – for things were happening; new files opening deep in his storage, new pathways blossoming, a network of vines that seemed to intertwined with his spark and core. 

Nevertheless, a few weak firewalls appeared. Scrapper was still Constructicon leader – and unique in that identity… 

Hook slowed. “Let them open,” he whispered. “Need…access…” 

His voice had never sounded so exotic, so rich and deep and commanding – and yet so gentle. Scrapper obliged, taking deep intakes as Hook skillfully probed. He looked up to see the crane gazing down at him, red optics glowing in the dim light. “Relax,” Hook said. “Just let them all come down. Don’t be afraid…”

A surge of deep affection mingled with the data. “I love you, Scrapper,” Hook said.

Scrapper melted inside, offlining his optics, surrendering completely, allowing Hook complete access as information streamed with renewed vigour. He focused instead on his storage; organizing, sorting, conveying to his mate that his part in this was being played right as he returned Hook’s affection with every spare byte he possessed.

Scrapper found himself mouthing Hook’s name, trusting the crane as never before. _He’s my colleague, he thought. My best friend, and now my co-creator._ In some place removed and yet not completely distant he felt the other Constructicons, knew they shared his happiness, were conveying their approval.

And then, when it seemed that it could not get more intense, more absolutely as it should be, Scrapper felt data from his own systems stream also to the new files, mingling with Hook’s. A whole new set of pathways sprang into existence as yet more programs came into being, a miasma of wondrously complex synergies that ebbed and flowed between them, finding their place in the files and settling in preparation.

Scrapper’s spark surged wildly. _Not that – not yet…_ Something told him this, just as he had known not to dwell on his moistening valve when Hook had first climbed on top of him. Instead, he focused on the files - _their_   files - the new life he and Hook would bring into being; until he lost track of various parts of his body and mumbled incoherent words, feeling only Hook and contentment, as their essences flowed and mingled.

 

“Deep, Hook, so deep…”   Hook barely heard the words. He caught Scrapper’s hands and held them, onlining his optics as more data channeled through. Scrapper’s optics were dimmed and offline, only trust and love in the beautiful face, the promise of an endless union. 

Hook also thought his spark might burst – but he too overrode the emotion, focusing hard on the connections as they deepened, the information flowing faster. And now the data transmission was drawing to an end, the emission pulses slower but gathering in strength as his charge built with sudden vengeance, a gathering compendium – and an overriding urge that Hook now knew he soon must draw to a conclusion. 

Excess energy began to thud in time, mighty in its force, sweeping him on. Hook picked up the pace, driving the pulses in hard, the need to be one with Scrapper consuming him. The last vestiges of data trickled through the connection; a deep satisfaction filled him as the completed files closed one by one. Stage two of replication was complete. Hook did not even need to fully access the notification that pinged to this effect.

And now it was all raw energy, thudding, surging as Hook’s need grew frantic. He glided fast over Scrapper, their hands clasped hard, the squeal of metal singing in his audios. He felt his connector spark, hard, glorious in its intensity, wanton in Scrapper’s port as Scrapper’s energy seared back into him. 

His energy field flared, wildly _“Need - need to finish,”_ he rasped. _“Yesss…”_ he heard Scrapper cry back. Beneath them, the luggage rack shook and groaned; and as though somehow in league, the train moved faster with them; metal graunching in time with its rattlings, a cacophony of robotic passion and outdated technology.

Hook let overload build – harder, faster; increased his speed, felt his and Scrapper’s circuits swell with residual fill, knew that they were was not far off…

 “Don’t stop…” Scrapper wailed. Hook threw his head back, crying out as he reached the peak, nearly, nearly…

 

Scrapper’s audios were alive with white noise, a myriad of colours dancing before his optics as energy assaulted him, thick and fast. Then Hook was exploding into him and Scrapper let go too in a copious shower of sparks and bliss, losing himself in the ecstasy of release. He heard a long, loud cry and knew it was his…

And then all sense of time, of self was lost. His body evaporated, scattered to the universe; and there was only Hook, and exquisite pleasure, and the wonderful sense of completion that spread like a warm tide. Caught in the throws of ecstasy, Scrapper let go; seconds before the sheer force knocked him offline.

The last thing he heard was the blast of the siren that signified the train was coming into the station. _We’re home_ … was his last happy thought.

 

Hook very nearly offlined with him – but as wild waves of overload coursed through, he felt the train slowing, the scraping of wheels on rails; they had reached their destination.

He felt his spark burn hotly; knew all that was left now was the final merging of his life force with Scrapper’s, knew this was now imperative; and that they could not – _must_ not - remain on the train for the rest of the night. As the ancient locomotive came to a halt, Hook pulled Scrapper out of view - just as the passengers began to emerge, pushing their way along the passage below to the doors that now opened on to the platform.

The motley collection did not even seem to notice the two Constructicons - although Hook noted that the three Insecticons collected the holdalls. The portly one looked up, and nodded politely. _Good luck,_ he clicked.

Hook nodded back, too hazy with post-overload afterglow to do anything other than grin foolishly. As soon as the passage was empty, he sat up. Pulling Scrapper to him, he solemnly hoisted his mate over his shoulder before climbing unsteadily down from the rack. 

As Hook stumbled out of the door, he paused, venting heavily, assaulted by the sights and sounds of the station; it danced with lights and colours, a delicious remnant of what he had just experienced. 

A mist hung in the air, cool and fresh, clinging to his armour like a rejuvenating veil. Hook took a deep breath, thoroughly content – perhaps for the first time – to be here on Delta Pavonus and away from Cybertron, and Rodimus, and Galvatron, and anyone else who might threaten the tranquility of their existence.

“Hey!” It was a familiar voice; and one which warmed him inwardly, carrying as it did a reassuring note of comfort and solidarity. He heard footsteps, peered into the darker end of the platform, saw through the hazy air two figures hurriedly approaching. Steam rose from their forms. A tail bobbed behind one, as the other followed more slowly. _Scavenger and Long Haul._  

“Guys!” Hook had never thought he’d be that pleased to see them in his life! He felt only a mild wave of disappointment that Bonecrusher and Mixmaster were not there too. 

Behind him, the train let off a hiss, as the last voices of the passengers died away. Hook felt his processor clearing, felt steadier and more assured, all his control returning. Afterglow resonated pleasantly, filling him with the satisfied knowledge that he programming sequence had established, that they were one step closer to the goal.

Holding Scrapper tightly, Hook made his way to meet them, splashing in puddles on the now uncovered section of platform.

But Scavenger stopped in front of him, not looking pleased. He pointed at Scrapper. “What have you done to him?” His voice rang out in the night mountain air.

“Plenty,” Hook could not restrain his delighted grin. 

Long Haul arrived. He frowned. “Looks like he’s done in!” he observed. Hook felt a twinge of impatience. “Scrapper is fine. He’s more than fine,” he assured them. “Now – if you wouldn’t mind, we both need to get home.”

The sudden sense of urgency seemed to mingle with the protectiveness he could feel form his team mates; for his spark had started to throb, painfully - a steady pumping rhythm deep in his chest. The need to complete the third and final part of the sequence - was all that mattered now.

“Long Haul, if you please…”

“Always me…” Long Haul was true to form; yet just before he truck transformed he grinned, broadly. “It’s happening then?” he asked.

“Yeah…” Hook replied. “We're nearly there.”

Scavenger was fussing over Scrapper, checking his hydraulics, stroking his helm as Hook laid the Constructicon leader in Long Haul’s tray. As Hook carefully arranged his limbs, Scrapper stirred. “Hook?” he murmured.

But it was Scavenger who caught the hand that reached out. “It’s all right , it’s only me – but – your co-creator is here too,” he said with an almost shy smile.

“Everything’s just fine – and we’re going to take you home.”


End file.
